


I’d Find You Again

by violetwolfraven



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Anastasia AU, Anastasia AU but like... a little to the left, Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Jack has PTSD, M/M, btw this would be the broadway Anastasia so don’t expect Rasputin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetwolfraven/pseuds/violetwolfraven
Summary: Davey is one half of the Jacobs Twins; two of the best conmen (or conpeople, as Sarah would say) in Russia. The only problem is that they want nothing more than to get out of Russia and have no way to do it. Ever since the Larkin family got killed, the country has gotten more and more dangerous, not that it was safe before.Yet there are legends that a Larkin child survived. The “Cowboy” prince; Queen Medda’s oldest child, and whether he’s alive or not, he may be Davey and Sarah’s best chance to flee the country.Jack, meanwhile, has no memories, besides one image of someone telling him to meet them in Paris. He doesn’t want to pretend to be someone he’s not, but to get to France, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 46
Kudos: 52





	1. A Rumor in St. Petersburg

**Author's Note:**

> The Anastasia AU literally no one asked for. This should be interesting.

Davey usually wasn’t one to believe in fairytales, but this one happened to be useful to him, so he was willing to play along as the rumor spread through the streets. After all, those who didn’t use the breaks they got wound up dead, even as officials claimed the country was better.

Well, squatting in an abandoned palace was certainly more fun than squatting in an abandoned basement, but it still wasn’t like Davey didn’t go to bed hungry most nights, so it hardly mattered. At least when the Larkins were in power, there were events like parades that made pickpocketing easier.

Davey didn’t enjoy his... _morally ambiguous_ line of work. He didn’t like lying or stealing, but anyone who wanted to survive being poor in the modern Petersburg did what they had to. At least it kept him and Sarah fed.

Well, kind of. Sarah was better at it than he was. She brought in more in a day than he usually could in a week. But what he did bring in helped them save for exit papers.

Davey snorted. Times better? What a joke.

True, the Larkins were corrupt and terrible, bankrupting the country at the expense of their people. But the unmarried Queen Medda, the last Larkin to be in power, had been trying to fix it. She’d adopted six children off the streets, opened soup kitchens, and sold much of her own wealth, among other things.

Not that any of that mattered to the revolutionaries who killed her and her children, but that was beside the point.

The point was that there was a rumor on the streets.

People were saying that her eldest adoptive child, the “Cowboy” prince, was still alive.

Of course, Davey didn’t really believe that Cowboy was alive. Everyone knew Prince “Crutchie” Charlie was the only survivor.

But, Crutchie was offering a reward for anyone who could bring his big brother home to him. That was what mattered.

Davey didn’t like the idea of lying to a man who’d lost his entire family, but this would get him and his sister out of Russia and set them up for life, so it was worth it to him.

”We’re going to get caught,” Sarah singsonged in his ear as they weaved through the market.

”Not if we’re careful,” Davey responded.

”You realize that even if we find something that was his,” she argued, “There’s a lot more to being a noble—let alone the Cowboy prince—than just _wearing a crown_ , right?”

Davey snorted, “You did it, so there can’t be that much to it.”

”Oh, I am fully prepared to make you eat those words later, brother dear.”

”Look, you were a ‘countess,’ when we were teenagers, Sarah. You can teach him what to say, and I’ll take care of getting us to Paris.”

”Sounds like a plan.”

They bumped fists, and Davey grinned. Only he and Sarah could possibly actually pull this off.

“See anything you recognize?”

”I only met Cowboy once, Davey.”

”Which is once more than I ever did.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “Fine. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Davey was... definitely _not_ nervous. He just felt like filling the silence.

”So, what was he like? The one time you met him?”

Davey watched as his sister shrugged, still looking around for something that could be Cowboy Larkin’s.

”An arrogant, cocky flirt.”

”Charming,” he sniggered, “Shouldn’t be hard to get a street boy to act like that.”

Sarah smacked him absentmindedly, “That wasn’t all.”

”Oh, please. Continue.”

Sarah continued, ”I only talked to him for a minute—and it was almost 10 years ago—but that was because his little brother, Prince Romeo, fell and cut his hand on the concrete in the courtyard. And Cowboy ran to him right away. He wasn’t just some flirt. There was kindness in there I wasn’t expecting.”

”Did somebody have a crush on the prince?” Davey teased.

Sarah smacked him again, “He wasn’t _my_ type, Davey.”

It was a not-at-all subtle dig at him, and Davey smacked her back this time.

...

“No!”

Jack felt stupid the second he dove to the ground. God, what was wrong with him? Why was he so jumpy?

”It was just a truck backfiring,” a voice said, as someone helped him up, “Nothing to be scared of.”

The person helping him up was a brown-haired man holding his broom, about Jack’s age, or maybe a little younger.

The guy looked surprised and took his hands off him the second he saw Jack’s eyes.

”I... your eyes. You look like someone I used to know.”

”Uh... thanks,” Jack said, trying to take his broom. He didn’t know what it was about this guy, but the man unsettled him.

It was probably his military uniform. People who got on the Bolsheviks’ bad sides, even by accident, had a tendency to disappear.

Still... Jack couldn’t remember being this nervous around any other soldier, and around Petersburg lately, he’d seen _plenty_.

”You’re shaking,” the military guy noted.

Jack swore internally, “Uh, thanks for the help. Can I have my broom, now?”

”What’s your hurry?”

He sounded suspicious. Shit.

”I can’t lose this job,” Jack explained quickly, “They’re not easy to come by.”

”Right. Of course.”

The military guy smiled tightly, then let go of the broom.

Ugh. Jack didn’t know what scared him so bad about that guy, but he was definitely unnerved as he kept on sweeping, and could feel the guy’s eyes on him as he left.

What a creep.

...

“I found this in the palace!” a peddler shouted, “Initialed with a ‘c’! It could be Cowboy’s, but who can say?”

Davey looked over to see the man holding a music box that did look rather fancy. Like something Cowboy Larkin might own. He elbowed Sarah and nodded towards it, and her eyes widened.

That told him all he needed to know.

”How much is that music box?”

The peddler grinned, “Ah, the music box! It’s genuine Larkin! I could _never_ part with it!”

“Two cans of beans?” Davey offered.

”Done.”

The music box was beautiful, and Sarah grinned as she threw an arm around him.

”I think I’ve seen that before in the palace.”

Davey shrugged, “Well, this is risky, but not more than usual. It’s the Cowboy prince who will help us get the hell out of Russia.”

”It’s risky,” Sarah corrected, “ _A lot_ more than usual.”

“With luck it’ll all go smoothly.”

”And with luck we won’t be shot,” Sarah grumbled.

Davey elbowed her, ”Who else could pull it off but me and you?”  
  



	2. In My Dreams

“I am the Grand Duke Francis ‘Cowboy’ Sullivan of Russia!”

Davey resisted the urge to roll his eyes at this street boy’s honestly pathetic performance.

”Try it again,” Sarah advised, “This time without the gum in your mouth.”

”It’s not gum,” the boy mumbled, “It’s tobacco.”

“It’s me, brother dear!” another boy exclaimed, throwing his arms out dramatically, “I am the Cowboy prince! They shot me, but I lived! And I came all the way to Paris to tell you that I’m _alive_!”

“Okay, what was that?” Davey asked.

That one’s problem was that he was over acting, not that he wasn’t actually trying like his friend wasn’t.

The guy had the audacity to just shrug, “I’m not really an actor.”

” _No_ ,” Sarah muttered, “We never would have guessed.”

“So, when do we find out who’s got the job?”

Davey fought the urge to tell them _exactly_ what he thought of them. At least when he pulled cons, he had the dignity to be good at it and lie _convincingly_.

These were the kinds of boys who lied like breathing and didn’t care who they hurt doing it. Davey only _pretended_ like he didn’t care who got hurt when he ran scams. He knew how to tell the difference by now, after years on the streets.

”Well...” Sarah said, her tone tired, “You all are about the age Cowboy would be, and you’ve got the right coloring. So... this will be a very hard decision. Remember—if Crutchie called you on faking it, it would be bad for you as well as us. So, for now, go home. We’ll let you know who we choose.”

As soon as the doors were closed behind them, Davey rolled his eyes, “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me, Saz.”

”Okay, they’re all terrible,” she admitted, “But they were the only ones who looked enough like Cowboy to pass.”

”It’s been almost _ten years_ since his brother last saw him,” Davey argued, “We can get away with someone who doesn’t look _exactly_ like the prince.“

”People don’t change _that_ much in ten years, Davey.”

”In the end, it comes down to who can nail his personality,” Davey insisted, “Who can memorize things he should know. Who can dance and walk and _breathe_ like him.”

”I’ll admit those boys had sacks of potatoes for brains,” Sarah admitted, “But what do you want to do, Davey? Cowboy princes don’t grow on trees.”

Davey shrugged, “I’ll go to Siberia to find a Cowboy.”

”Have you ever _been_ to Siberia? Wait, no, don’t answer that. I’m your sister. I know the answer. _No_.”

“Do you have a better—“

A knock sounded on the window and they both jumped.

As they locked eyes, Sarah asked, “Do you think those boys ratted on us?”

“Well, gutter boys aren’t exactly the most trustworthy,” Davey mumbled, trying to think of something to do besides what they were doing now; hiding behind the couch.

”Hello?” A voice called uncertainly.

It sounded like a young man, but the voice wasn’t familiar. Not one of the boys from before.

Davey peeked over the top of the couch.

It was a scrappy yet handsome young man with brown hair and hazel eyes, and his eyes landed directly on Davey’s.

...

Jack wasn’t sure why someone was hiding from him, but he figured it would be smart to state his business. He’d learned the rules of this city quickly, and his name would probably matter less to a smuggler than what he was doing there.

”I’m looking for someone named David Jacobs?”

The young man crouching behind the couch stood up, revealing himself to have dark hair and blue eyes, a young man about Jack’s age.

”I’m David Jacobs,” he said warily, “Most people call me Davey. What do you want?”

“I...” Jack looked at the floor, “I need exit papers and I heard you were the person to come to.”

”Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

It was a little startling when a young woman with brown hair and eyes popped up from behind the couch, but Jack managed to not look too weirded out by it. At least, he hoped so.

”This is my sister, Sarah,” Davey said simply, “So, how much money do you have?”

”I’ve got a little saved—“

He was laughing before Jack even finished his sentence.

”Papers to leave the country cost _a lot,_ even legally. You’d be better off saving for them on your own, instead of buying from a smuggler.”

”That takes time,” Jack insisted, “A lot of it. I was told you could get them quick.”

The guy didn’t seem threatened by Jack anymore, just walking around to sit down on the couch. His sister headed over to a chair a short distance away.

“I could,” he reasoned, “But again, you don’t have the kind of money for that.”

Jack knew he was a big guy. He’d heard it all the time growing up, as far back as he remembered. That he was a big, strong boy who grew into a big, strong man.

Davey was maybe a couple inches taller, but not as visibly strong, so Jack crossed his arms and stood as straight as he could as he advanced on the other man, trying to appear as threatening as possible.

”I’m a hard worker,” he said firmly, “You’ll get your money.”

Davey shrugged, not seeming intimidated or convinced, “What do you do?”

”I’m a street sweeper.”

At that, both siblings cracked up.

Admittedly, Jack knew how ridiculous it sounded. He knew firsthand how little street sweepers made.

”Before this, I washed dishes in Odessa,” he said defensively, “And before that, I worked at the hospital in Perm, and—“

”Perm’s far from here,” Davey noted.

”Yeah, I know. I walked it. I need to get to Paris. Look, I’ll do whatever you want. I just _need_ to get there.”

At that, Sarah went over and dragged her brother aside, the two of them having some kind of whispered argument, but Jack wasn’t paying attention.

”I’ve been in this room before,” he mumbled.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he was _sure_.

“There was a play, and... and afterwards, we danced. There was champagne, and I stole a sip. But... but...”

”Oh, now he’s fainting on us.”

“Jesus Christ, Davey!”

Jack didn’t realize how close he was to falling until the siblings caught him, one on either side, and guided him to the chair.

”When was the last time you ate?” Sarah mumbled, “He’s lighter than any man should be. Davey, go grab him some water, and some of that cheese, too.”

”We’re not running a soup kitchen, Sarah.”

”We have enough to spare, so just do it!” Sarah snapped, and Davey ran off down the hallway.

”Thanks,” Jack said, “You seem nice, even if your brother isn’t.”

She shrugged, “He’s not so bad. It’s just that times have been hard for us.”

”Times have been hard for everyone,” Jack pointed out.

”True, but... let’s just say that since the Larkins died... well, we’ve both crossed lines we didn’t think we’d have to cross. I’m just nicer about it.”

“Here,” Davey huffed, shoving a cup of water and some cheese at Jack.

”Thanks.”

”So, what’s your name?” Sarah asked.

Jack was about to answer when he noticed how Davey stiffened, staring right at his sister.

”Saz, no,” he said, “ _No_.”

“Give him a chance,” Sarah said reproachfully before turning back to Jack, “So, your name?”

”I...” Jack shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Both looked confused at that as they exchanged a glance.

”You don’t know?” Davey asked.

”They gave me a name at the hospital—Jack—when I was about 15 or 16, but... they said I have amnesia. There was nothing they could do about it.”

Jack had learned to interpret expressions pretty accurately, but he couldn’t read the next look the siblings exchanged. It made him a bit nervous.

”Tell us what you _do_ remember,” Sarah said as she and Davey sat down on the couch.

Jack shrugged, “They said I was found by the side of a road. There were tracks all around—it had recently snowed. I was just left in the darkness and cold. A boy with no name, and no memories—but these.”

Jack noted how Davey sat forward, looking interested, though he didn’t know what he’d said that was so interesting.

”Rain against a window,” he recalled, thinking back, “Sheets on a bed. Then terrifying nurses whispering overhead. ‘Call the child ‘Jack’.’ ‘Give the child a hat.’ I don’t know a thing before that.”

”That sounds hard,” Sarah said kindly, “What next?”

Jack spoke truthfully, “Traveling the back roads. Sleeping in the woods. Taking what I needed, working when I could. Keeping up my courage, pointless as it seemed. At night... I’m alone in my dreams.”

“Dreams?” Davey asked.

That felt a bit personal, but Jack shared a little, anyway. He needed these two to trust him, or he could kiss getting exit papers from them goodbye.

”Just shadows,” he said, “A light at the end of a hall. Then it all fades away. But I know it’ll all come back one day. My memories, I mean.”

”If you don’t remember anything, why do you want to go to Paris so badly?” Davey asked suspiciously.

Jack sighed, “Fine. I’ve dreamed of a city before. It might be Paris, but... there’s a bridge by a square. It’s beautiful.”

”Um...” Sarah smiled kindly, “Jack, no offense, but that could be literally any city.”

”No, I...” Jack took a deep breath, “It’s kind of personal, but... in my dreams, I hear a voice whisper ‘I’ll meet you right there, in Paris.’ I don’t know who it is, but they’re waiting for me there.”

God, Jack hated the looks on their faces right now.

Davey looked outright doubtful, and that made Jack want to punch him. Sarah looked more like she pitied him, and he didn’t want pity, either.

”Look,” he said, “You don’t know what it’s like not to know who you are. I’ve travelled this far, and I still have faith in my dreams, and... I know it all will come back one day. I just have to get to Paris and find whoever’s waiting for me there.”

Davey and Sarah exchanged another look that Jack couldn’t interpret, and they both nodded, confirming... some decision.

”You know what?” Davey asked.

”What?” Jack asked, meeting his gaze with what he hoped was equal strength.

”Maybe we can help you after all, Jack.”


	3. Learn To Do It

“So...” Jack was still wrapping his head around this, to be honest.

He’d done some... _questionable_ things to survive over the last ten years, but this was bad even for him.

”You want me to go up to Prince Crutchie Morris-Larkin in Paris, a man who’s siblings and mother were brutally murdered by revolutionaries... and pretend to be his older brother, who might not be alive at all.”

”If it makes you feel any better, we don’t know for sure that you’re _not_ Cowboy,” Davey said simply, “You don’t remember most of your childhood, and your memory cuts off around the time the Larkins got killed.”

”I’m pretty sure that’s just a coincidence.”

”The point is, you _could_ be him for all we know. And what about the fact that you’re looking for someone who’s waiting for you in Paris—and Crutchie Larkin has been waiting for his big brother in Paris for the last decade? That’s a lot of coincidence, right?”

Jack shrugged, “Well...”

”Look, if you’re not him, it was an honest mistake,” Sarah said gently, “If you are, you’ll get to reunite with your brother, and Davey and I will never have to starve again.”

Jack thought about it, trying to think back.

Did he have a brother? That... _did_ feel right. The few friends he’d had, for short periods of time over the last few years, had always called him protective. Almost like a mom or dad friend. Like he had experience taking care of someone before.

”So...” Jack put his hands up, “Supposing I _am_ the Cowboy prince. How do I become the person I forgot I ever was?”

”Well, for now,” Sarah said, leading him over to a chair to sit down, “We just need to turn you into a noble, or Crutchie will never believe you’re his brother no matter how much you look like him.”

”A noble? _How_ are you going to do that?”

“Good question,” Davey mumbled, and Jack wanted to punch him for what must be the millionth time.

”Look, if I can do it, you can,” Sarah said confidently, “I passed myself off as a noble for a couple years when I was a teenager. The Countess Sarah Jacobs, first and probably _last_ of her line.”

Jack laughed, “How’d you get people to buy that?”

”I had a... lover, I guess, who helped me. Mostly, people trusted the good name of my lover’s family, and therefore took me at my word, but it also depended on how I _acted_. I’m going to teach you everything I learned.”

“You had a—“

”If you’re good, I might tell you the story later,” Sarah interrupted, “For now, just shut your mouth, close your eyes, and imagine another time. Another world.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but shut up and closed his eyes.

”You were adopted into a palace by the sea when you were five,” Sarah began, “And rode horseback when you were only six.”

“Horseback riding?” Jack asked skeptically, “Me?”

”What was the horse’s name?” Davey asked.

”Romeo,” Sarah laughed, “Ironic.”

Jack didn’t know why that was so ironic, but he nodded, anyway.

”You threw tantrums and terrorized the cook,” Sarah said, “Constantly pulled pranks with your brothers and sister.”

”Charming child,” Davey muttered.

Sarah slapped him and Jack laughed.

”But,” she said, “You’d behave when your mother gave that look.”

”What look?”

Sarah made a stern face, and it did make Jack want to shut up and listen.

”Imagine how it was,” Davey said, “Your forgotten past.”

”We’ve got a lot to teach you,” Sarah said, “Now, stand up. Let’s see you walk. Shoulders back, head up. Here’s the advice I was given; don’t walk. Try to float.”

”I feel foolish,” Jack mumbled, walking around, “Am I floating?”

”Like a sinking boat,” Davey said cheerfully.

Jack enjoyed the mental image of punching him in the face as Sarah put a book on his head to make him stand up straight.

”Give a bow,” Sarah coached, taking the book after a few steps.

”What happens now?”

Sarah stood up from her curtsy, extending her hand, “You kiss my hand.”

”What? No.”

”Fine. You’ll have to do it in real life, though. Let’s see a bow.”

Jack thought for a second, then bowed the way that felt natural.

”Wait, how did you..?” Sarah laughed incredulously, “I didn’t teach you that. You’re a natural!”

”You mean I did it right?”

”You did it perfect! Now, come on! If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it!”

She dragged him over to a small table with a tea set on it.

”Oh, I forgot the practice food. Play nice while I grab it, boys.”

Davey rolled his eyes, crouching down next to Jack’s chair, “Elbows in, sit up straight, and _do not_ slurp the stroganoff.”

”I never cared for stroganoff,” Jack said haughtily. 

“Now, you’re sounding like a noble!” Sarah exclaimed, coming back in.

”You didn’t forget the caviar, right?” Davey asked.

”Dessert and then goodnight?” Jack asked hopefully.

Davey smiled sweetly, pushing him back down into the chair, and Jack enjoyed the image of punching him again, “Not until you get this right.”

...

Davey didn’t like Jack. He acted all innocent when he was the kind who would agree to trick his “brother” into believing he was someone who was dead.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure the whole ‘amnesia’ thing wasn’t just an act. After all, as with the bows, he did seem just just have random flashes of memory.

This, of course, had absolutely nothing to do with Sarah’s theory, which she’d told him teasingly after the first day of noble training. She didn’t know what she was talking about, anyway.

It was _not_ cute how Jack’s hazel eyes lit up when he got something right. Davey _wasn’t_ proud of him when he mastered something that he’d been struggling with. He _wasn’t_ so attractive it made Davey struggle for words and usually come up with something mean, because years on the street had made ‘mean’ his default.

Anyway, even if it did have something to do with that, Davey had more important things to worry about. Like quizzing Jack on his family tree.

”Who was your great grandmother?” Sarah asked, patient as always.

“Queen Victoria,” Jack answered immediately, pacing with the energy he always seemed to have.

”Great-great grandmother?”

He struggled a bit more with that one, but still answered, “Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld.”

”Your best friend is?”

”I told _all_ of my siblings it was them, but it was actually always my oldest little brother, Crutchie.”

”Wrong,” Davey said immediately, “Your best friend is—“

”I _think_ I know who my own best friend is,” Jack interrupted, his eyes flashing.

Davey scrambled for something to say. Though Jack was a little shorter, he was probably admittedly strong enough to snap him like a twig, and he really should feel more threatened by that.

”What a temper,” he ended up saying.

”I don’t like being contradicted,” Jack hissed in his face.

”That makes two of us!”

”Uh... continuing on!” Sarah tried to divert.

”No, I’ve had it!” Jack shouted, “I hate you both! Mostly Davey, but I’m still sorry that we ever met. I’m hungry and scared and I’m only human! I don’t remember anything, so can you just leave me be?”

...oh, shit. Was he crying?

Now that Davey was thinking about it, he’d noticed a tension to Jack’s frame the entire day, like a spring waiting to be released. He’d woken up sweaty, which was odd, considering how cold it was this time of year.

Sarah shot him an angry look before putting her hand on Jack’s shoulder gently.

”Hey, Jack, look at me. We’re all scared a little now and then. Can we start over? Take a breath and count to ten. You have _courage_ , Jack. Strength you barely know.”

She waved her hand behind her, and Davey put a handkerchief in it.

”So, dry your eyes. A prince like your majesty can do this if he tries. Let us know when you’re ready.”

When she came back over to Davey, she punched him in the arm.

”Ow.”

”You deserved it. He’s been tense all morning—I think he had a nightmare.”

”Yeah.”

Davey didn’t want to admit that he’d noticed that, too.

He realized Sarah was waiting for a real answer.

”We don’t have much time, but yeah, we can give him some to calm down.”

Jack actually managed to pull himself together fairly quickly, and came back over to the chalk board, his eyes still red and puffy but determined.

Davey made a mental note to be nice today, because he didn’t like Jack, but he definitely liked seeing him upset less.

”Ready?” Sarah asked.

”Set?” Davey added.

Jack nodded, “Go.”

“Your brother, Anthony, was the third oldest,” Sarah explained, “He went by the nickname Racetrack, or usually Racer or Race, for short. Adopted when you were seven and he was five. Had a bit of a gambling problem. Got it?”

Jack only gave a single nod before Davey moved on. They _were_ a bit tight on time, after all.

“Elmer was next, and he was the only one of you without a nickname,” he explained, “Adopted when he was four and you were seven. Known for having a smile that could keep him from getting in trouble with anyone.”

”Wait—“

Apparently, Sarah didn’t hear when Jack protested, because she just kept rattling on.

”Romeo was the youngest boy, quite a flirt—even more than you were. He flirted with _literally_ everyone. Real name was Nico, adopted when you were eight and he was five.”

”And last of all was Smalls,” Davey finished figuring it was better to just let him ask questions later, “Your sister, five years younger than you, adopted when you were nine and she was four. Said to be quite a tomboy. Real name was—“

”Liana,” Jack said automatically, “Princess Liana ‘Smalls’ Veldheer-Larkin.”

Sarah leaned over, a confused look on her face, “I don’t believe we told him that.”

Well, whatever the case, he clearly knew.

”Well, we already covered Crutchie,” Davey said, “So, any questions?”

”Yes,” Jack said immediately, “Why did they all have nicknames?”

Davey frowned, looking over at Sarah, who just shook her head.

”Nobody knows except them,” he admitted, “I guess we’ll just have to hope either you remember, or your brother doesn’t ask you about that.”

”Yeah,” Jack nodded, his eyes far away in a way they were more and more often nowadays.

Davey wished he knew what he was thinking.

...

Jack grinned, having named facts about all his siblings and tracked his mother’s family tree back several generations, all from memory.

”I think I’ve got a chance!”

”Not until you learn to dance,” Sarah singsonged, “Or, re-learn, I guess. And thanks to dancing with your sister _and_ your brothers, you could both lead and follow when dancing, so you’ll have to learn both. Following is easier, so we’ll start with that. Davey?”

”What?”

Jack laughed at the look on his face.

Sarah grabbed his shoulders and steered him over to Jack, “All you have to do for now is lead him through a simple waltz. We can work on more complicated dances another day.”

”But _I_ don’t know how to—“

Sarah groaned, “It is _not_ that hard! It’s just one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.”

As she completed demonstrating the waltz step, Sarah looked up and glared at them both.

”What are you both just standing there for? You know how arm positions in a waltz work, right?”

Jack _did_ actually know that, and he fought goosebumps at how gently Davey touched his waist with his left hand.

Another day, he might have found it suspicious how worried the other man seemed to be about hurting him, but for today, at least they were equally nervous about the whole ‘dancing’ thing.

The dance was clumsy as Sarah hummed out a waltz song, and they only made it through three steps before Davey stepped on Jack’s foot.

”Ow!”

”This is not as easy as it looks!”

”Boys!”

Jack bit back an insult, hoping not to invoke the wrath of Sarah Jacobs. It looked like Davey actually _bit_ the inside of his cheek to make himself be nice.

“If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it,” she said pointedly, “Try again.”

Jack just couldn’t help himself. When Sarah started humming again, he let Davey lead him through a couple steps, then stepped on his foot on purpose.

”Ow! What the hell, Jack?”

”We’re even now!”

Davey glared at him, but that was nothing compared to the look on Sarah’s face.

Jack laughed nervously, “We’ll get it right this time, Sarah. No worries.”

”Yeah,” Davey agreed, “I think we’re getting the hang of it.”

Sarah stared at them for a couple more seconds, then sighed, “If you hurt each other intentionally again, I will kill you both.”

She started humming again, and Davey startled leading Jack through some actually fairly smooth waltz steps.

The relative silence was awkward, especially with how... this felt _familiar_ to Jack.

He’d done this before. He knew it, which was how he knew that...

”You’re a pretty good dancer for someone who doesn’t know how,” he mumbled, quiet enough that they could still hear Sarah humming as they picked up the pace a little.

Davey looked really surprised, “Thanks. You’re... well, I guess I wouldn’t know, but you seem pretty good, too.”

Jack grinned, “Did you just admit I have a good quality?”

”Shut up.”

They both did shut up, and...

Eye contact usually had a tendency to make Jack uncomfortable, but he was staring directly into Davey’s eyes without looking away for an instant despite the intensity.

It was an electric moment. Almost... magical. For a second, Davey Jacobs didn’t seem so bad.

”I think you’ve got the hang of it!” Sarah exclaimed suddenly and loudly, making them both jump.

Jack hadn’t even realized she was standing so close, but he reacted quickly when she grabbed his arm to spin him towards her.

When she started humming again, he didn’t know how he knew how to lead a waltz, but this one was significantly quicker and he was still picking it up.

”Good!” Sarah exclaimed, “Now, the polka!”

“How are you doing that?” Davey asked incredulously as they switched styles effortlessly, Jack still leading.

Jack laughed, “I have _no_ idea!”

“Well!” Sarah exclaimed as they stopped, “That was great, Jack! You’re a fast learner! _Trés bien, mon cher, trés bien_!”

Jack laughed again, still exhilarated, “ _Merci, mademoiselle!_ ”

Sarah looked startled, “ _Tu parles le français?_ ”

” _Un peu._ ”

At that point, Jack registered that they’d been speaking French was was promptly very confused.

“What was that?” Davey asked.

”Oh, the nobles and royals all spoke French, Davey,” Sarah explained, “Russian was for common people, like you.”

Jack snorted and Davey glared at him as he tossed him his coat.

”We’ll start again tomorrow. In _Russian_ , for the common man, since I’m so clearly beneath the both of you.”

“ _C’est la vie, mon frére_ ,” Sarah said with a grin.

”Sazzy, I swear to God—“

Jack didn’t hear the rest of their argument as they walked down the hallway, looking instead at the book on “his” past Davey and Sarah has made for him.

”You were adopted into a palace by the sea,” he mumbled.

Something in him recognized that.

The idea of having five younger siblings, of being a prince... he didn’t know why, but it felt right.

If felt familiar.

”Could it be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn’t tell, Davey’s mood throughout this chapter can be described as ‘gay panic.’


	4. The Neva Flows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a new perspective and lots of fucking angst!

Of course, it was _super_ convenient how Jack had to learn to be a prince _and_ keep his old job to save for exit papers, but at least he was getting paid to sweep.

Still, he’d rather be dancing right now. Jack hadn’t expected to enjoy dancing, but he did. It was fun, in a bittersweet, familiar kind of way.

It had nothing to do with how having Davey touch him felt kind of nice. Sure, it was nice with Sarah, too, but dancing with Davey was better. Less awkward, for some reason.

Or maybe it was more awkward, but in a good way.

Okay, so maybe Davey _did_ have something to do with how fun dancing was, but that was probably just because Jack hadn’t gotten a lot of friendly physical contact in the last ten years. And he probably enjoyed Davey’s touch more than Sarah’s because to be honest, Sarah kind of scared him.

To be fair, everyone seemed a little scared of Sarah, if the few other smugglers Jack had seen her interact with were any indication.

Davey wasn’t scary. He was infuriating sometimes, sure, but Jack had started seeing the little things that proved he was still human. The way he stuck close to Sarah, constantly making sure she was with him and safe. The way he would take first watch to let her and Jack sleep. The way he once gave a little street kid some money instead of buying food for himself when he probably thought Jack wasn’t looking.

Of course, Jack probably shouldn’t be thinking so hard about this—about _him_ —in the middle of work.

He _definitely_ shouldn’t have been, with how he didn’t notice the two soldiers until they grabbed him.

...

”Yes, sir,” Spot sighed, “I’m enjoying my new position. A view of the Nevsky Prospect and a Russian telephone that actually works.”

Truth be told, he didn’t usually listen when his superiors told him things. He could always figure out what they wanted him to do later, because it usually went along the lines of ‘kill this person’ or ‘put the fear of God in this group.’ He was pretty good at that, but Spot—

He should really stop thinking of himself as ‘Spot.’ It had been ten years, for Christ’s sake.

_Stop thinking about it, Sean. You’re_ fine _. It’s been a decade._

Spot realized that his superior had asked what he meant.

Shit. That could be interpreted as disloyalty, even though their phones usually _were_ terrible.

”It was a joke, sir. We have wonderful telephones.”

He looked up in time to spot a couple of his men dragging a scrappy young man into his office.

”Oh, I’m sorry, but the little trouble maker is here now. I must go, sir. Goodbye.”

Spot hung up before the man could give him any more orders or anything.

”You can go,” he told the soldiers.

Judging quickly by this guy’s build, he could take him if needed.

Judging by his body language, he was already scared. Good. Spot would just have to scare him a little more to sort this out, maybe throw him in a cell for a few years, but he wouldn’t have to kill anyone.

“Did you know I can see the entire city from up here?” he asked, standing at the window, “All the way to the old Yusopov Palace.”

When he paused, the young man didn’t try to talk.

”There’s a lot of people down there, all going about their business, living their lives under the watchful eye of the law... it honestly still amazes me that a few bad apples still think they can get away with mischief.”

”Why was I brought here?”

”Maybe you can tell me—“

For the first time, he actually looked at the man.

Brown hair, hazel eyes, obvious strength despite his equally obvious nervousness...

”Wait a second,” Spot scoffed, “You’re that jumpy street sweeper from a couple weeks ago.”

The man looked him in the eye and Spot’s heart almost stopped beating.

He really did look _so much_ like... no. Not possible. He knew that better than most.

“I remember you, too,” the street sweeper boy said awkwardly.

Spot nodded, thinking back on what his sources had told him, “Jack? Was that your name?”

Jack nodded, “Yes.”

”Well, Jack, I’m Lieutenant Sean Conlon.”

He waited for a reaction, and against his better judgement, he was half expecting one.

Nothing.

Spot _wasn’t_ disappointed.

He noticed how Jack flinched when he walked towards him, which was... interesting.

”It’s the uniform, right?” he asked, “I’m not stupid. I know people are afraid of it.”

Jack shrugged, “I guess they are.”

Spot nodded towards his desk, “Sit. Have tea with me.”

_Shockingly_ , Jack didn’t drink anything put in front of him.

Smart. He must have heard the rumors. Not that he could miss them. The people of Leningrad spread gossip like the plague. Most of it was harmless, though it did warrant a lot of reports and paperwork.

Spot wasn’t sure yet what kind of paperwork he was going to have to fill out over Jack. He was having trouble reading this one, which was rare.

”I know what you and your new friends are up to,” he said, “The Jacobs Twins... a harmless enough pair, mostly. A nuisance to the law at most, but not actually dangerous. You should still be careful with them, though.”

”I don’t know what you’re—“

”Save it,” Spot took a sip of his tea, “Now, you haven’t actually done anything wrong yet, but on the path you’re on, it’s only a matter of time. The Jacobs Twins are a lot smarter than they seem. They’ve been working the system since before the Larkins fell—since they were children. Anyone who can disobey the law that long and not be caught is not truly a friend to anyone besides maybe each other. They’ll use you until you’re no longer useful to them and then leave you high and dry.”

That made Jack pause, and Spot could see that he was thinking about something.

”Did you bring me here to give me advice?”

Interesting. So, he wasn’t particularly interested in why the Jacobs were still free or what exactly they’d done. That made Spot wonder how much they’d actually told him, to make him trust them.

Whatever. He could still work this angle.

”No,” he admitted, “I came to warn you about something else. Something far more dangerous than the Jacobs Twins themselves.”

Jack tensed as Spot leaned forward against his desk.

”I know you’re not who you’re pretending to be.”

The confusion was clearly faked, “What?”

”The Larkins are dead,” Spot said firmly, “All of them, except the crippled prince in Paris. You want to know how I know?”

Jack seemed to sense it would be best to play along with the cue.

”How?”

Spot shrugged, carefully appearing more nonchalant than he actually was, “Because I was there.”

”What?”

The shock was clearly real, which was expected because Spot had been carefully pretending for the last ten years that he _wasn’t_ there that night.

He’d put a lot of effort into pretending he’d never even _seen_ the inside of a palace.

”I was a boy,” he said, “Just fourteen years old. I think even younger than you were. I was in training to be a soldier, like my father before me, so I was _there_ the night the Larkins died.”

...

Jack didn’t know what to think, because he was pretty good at reading people, but this soldier unsettled him.

Under the anger he was trying to use to intimidate him, the guy had a kind of sadness to him, like he carried a weight on his shoulders. He seemed older than he was, at maybe a couple years _younger_ than Jack was. 

He also seemed to look through him, seeing things even Jack himself didn’t know.

The one person Jack had _never_ been able to read was himself. He didn’t like the idea of someone else being able to.

And Sean Conlon was staring at him, dead serious in a way that seemed almost... _familiar_.

”I know you’re not Cowboy Larkin,” he said firmly, “Because I _knew_ him. And that boy is _dead_.”

“I’m hardly the first person to pretend to be someone they’re not,” Jack said defensively, “It’s just a fantasy.”

Sean snorted, “Well, you picked a pretty dangerous one.”

”If it’s not true, why does it matter?”

The other man shrugged, walking around the desk to lean against it in front of Jack.

”It doesn’t, unless people start to believe it. Can I give you some friendly advice, man to man?”

Jack nodded, figuring it would be safest to play along.

“Be very careful of these rumors that prevail,” Sean advised gravely, “Be very careful what you say. I was a boy who lived the truth behind the tale, and I _know_ : Cowboy didn’t get away.”

The other man’s eyes got far away, and Jack stayed quiet, knowing he wasn’t done.

”I saw the children as the soldiers locked the doors. Even the oldest son, and his pride. The call to arms on the night they met their fate, the older soldiers leaving the barracks with their guns at their sides.”

He sounded almost haunted as he continued.

”I heard the shots. I heard the screams... but it’s the silence after I remember most. It was like the world stopped breathing.”

He didn’t... oddly, he didn’t sound happy about that.

He was a Bolshevik, so why did he sound so sad about the royal family’s deaths?

The soldier caught himself quickly, “After that, I was no longer a boy. My father died of shame, but I believe he did a proud and vital task. Still, the Neva flows. A new wind blows, and soon it will be spring. The leaves unfold, the Queen lies cold. I don’t know if I could have pulled the trigger if I’d been told, but...”

Jack watched as he caught himself again and glared.

”Be careful what a dream may bring, Jack. A revolution is a simple thing.”

Jack nodded, “I know. I’ll be careful, and... and I won’t let this get out of hand. I... can I go?”

Sean nodded, “Yes. For now.”

”Thank you. For the advice. And the tea. I’ll stay out of trouble.”

As he left, Jack fought the urge to run out of the building.

...

Spot sighed, sitting down at his desk.

That had been harder than he’d thought it would be. He hadn’t talked about his experience with the Larkins’ deaths... well, _ever_.

He’d never told anyone what he’d done that night, after the other cadets left to go see if they could watch the action and he’d gone... somewhere else. He never told anyone where. Not even his father.

Just like he couldn’t tell anyone that he half-wished this ‘Jack’ _was_ actually Cowboy.

He’d spent the last ten years trying not to think about that family. Any time he did think about them, he forced himself to think instead of how it was necessary. It was for the greater good. It was a sacrifice to save the country.

He had to believe that, because if he didn’t, it might just kill him.

Now, as he had all too many times in the last decade, Spot forced himself to push away memories of being goaded into waltzing across a dance floor, mock tea parties in front of a fire, and laughter among friends who were his age, yet from another world.

Most of all, he shoved away memories of blue eyes and blond hair, the kind of immature flirting fourteen-year-olds used and of adjusting someone’s grip on a rifle during a shooting lesson that was really just an excuse to touch him.

_You were a child. Childhood flirting doesn’t mean anything. It’s been ten years, anyway. You’re fine, Spot._

One of these days, Spot was going to stop thinking of himself in the nickname given to him by Prince Anthony “Racetrack“ Higgins-Larkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil laughter* Do you hate me for this? If so, don’t hesitate to leave me a comment letting me know!


	5. My Petersburg

“You don’t get it,” Jack pressed, “He said he _knew_ Cowboy, and that was how he knew I wasn’t him.”

”I don’t know what you want me to say, Jack,” Davey said, just keeping walking, “There isn’t records on everything. If this guy said he was a soldier cadet, that means he worked in the palace. By all accounts, the oldest prince was pretty good at making friends, so if this guy said he knew Cowboy, he probably did.”

Davey was, honestly, too busy being relieved that Jack was still alive and not in prison to care who had known who and why. Not everyone who got taken by the Bolsheviks got that lucky.

”Dave,” Jack stopped walking, forcing Davey to stop, too, or leave him behind.

After he went to work alone and got kidnapped, Davey didn’t want to let him out of his sight.

”What?” he asked.

”He knew where we were hiding,” Jack insisted, “He knew what we were doing. I don’t know how, but he found out. We need to—“

”Well, soil my breeches! Is that David Jacobs?”

Oh, no.

Davey cringed, pasted on a smile, and turned around.

”Hey, boys.”

In the darkness, he couldn’t tell who was talking. That gang all pretty much sounded the same, anyway, from years of selling the same contraband together and developing their ‘salesman’ voices.

”Come have a drink with us!” someone yelled, “It’s been so long!”

”Sorry, but I can’t right now,” Davey called back, reaching back to grab Jack’s hand so they could walk away, “I need to go find my sister. Another time!”

”Aw, too good for us, Davey?”

Davey didn’t recognize the guy blocking his path, honestly, which wasn’t that surprising. He’d moved on from that gang long ago. He guessed they’d gained a few members.

How these guys kept making friends, he had no idea. He hated them so much. The ones that liked girls always made advances on Sarah and the ones that liked boys always made advances on him. They were creeps and if you couldn’t fend them off, they didn’t take no for an answer.

There was a reason the Jacobs Twins had never gone anywhere without each other while involved in that gang. And why one or both of them was always armed, during those days.

”You can bring your boyfriend,” someone teased, and all the others cackled.

”He is _not_ my boyfriend! Can you stop being—“

“Oh, haven’t you all heard?” one of the newer gang members declared, “Davey, here, has been running with a new crowd lately! We’re in the presence of the Grand Prince Cowboy or whatever!”

The guys mock bowed and laughed like idiots, but Davey was more focused on how they were _clearly_ surrounding him and Jack, which was a problem, as they were severely outnumbered and Davey didn’t have his knife on him today.

That was one downside of having moved on from that gang. He’d slipped a bit. Let his guard down. He never would have made that mistake in his teens.

”He does look pretty enough to be a prince, doesn't he?” someone taunted.

“Care to dance, Your Highness?”

Davey didn’t really know what happened, but the next thing he knew, a guy that had to be twice Jack’s size was on the ground with a broken nose, and they were fighting.

Well, Jack was fighting. Davey was mostly just helping fend off a few of them. But Jack was taking on a dozen guys, most of them bigger than him, and _kicking their asses_.

Davey really hoped this wouldn’t awaken anything in him.

”Next time I won’t go so easy!” Jack crowed, about to chase the last guy with a stick he’d grabbed out of a barrel.

”Whoa!” Davey grabbed him around the waist to stop him, “We don’t need to chase them! Jack, you beat them! That’s enough!”

His grin was _not_ adorable, by the way.

”You’re lucky I didn’t decide to use those moves on you.”

Davey put his hands up as Jack tossed the stick aside, “I believe you. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Jack just shrugged as they kept walking.

”I’ve just known how ever since I can remember. I didn’t walk halfway across Russia without knowing how to take care of myself. And it seems like nobody in this city can actually fight, anyway, so you’ve had it easy.”

Davey has been fending off three guys on his own, but he decided not to take that part personally.

”Not that easy.”

They walked in silence for a while, until they were on a bridge over the canal.

Davey had to admit that it was beautiful. He might actually miss this view when they got out.

Might as well savor it now. Jack seemed to have a similar idea, already stopping to lean on the railing and look out over the water.

”Lieutenant Conlon said you and Sarah have been running scams since you were kids,” Jack said hesitantly.

Oh. So that was why he’d stopped. He wanted to talk where no one could possibly listen in on them without being obvious about it. The bridge didn’t exactly have many hiding places.

Davey shrugged, “Well, not all of us grew up in palaces.”

Jack didn’t try to finish what he was clearly trying to ask.

God, what was with him lately? More and more, it was like there were two Jacks in there. One was witty and argumentative and could beat up men twice his size, and one could barely take one word of disapproval from Davey or anyone else. And there was some overlap, with the argumentative side coming out more frequently as he got more confident, but it was still confusing.

”What else did Lieutenant Conlon say?” he asked.

Jack smirked, “That I shouldn’t trust you.”

”Oh, so he gave you some good advice.”

”I guess so.”

After what they’d been putting him through, the danger they’d been putting him in for the last few weeks, Davey guessed Jack did deserve a little of the Jacobs Twins’ past.

”Sarah and I...” he cleared his throat, “Our father was an anarchist. The bad kind.”

”Bad kind? Is there a good kind of anarchist?”

Davey stopped himself from snapping. He did know that some of Mayer Jacobs’s political decisions had been questionable, even dangerous. For himself and others.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and answer.

”Fair, but I meant he was the kind who got caught. He died in a labor camp when we were really little.”

”Oh,” Jack looked surprised, “I’m sorry.”

Davey shrugged, “After that, we scraped by as well as we could, but our mama was the only one bringing in income. She was one woman—a Jewish woman in a mostly Christian town—trying to feed three kids, so—“

”Three?” Jack asked, then, “Sorry.”

”We had a little brother,” Davey explained, “Les. He would be... almost twenty, now. But I haven’t seen him since he was two. That was when Sarah and I talked it over, realized _we_ were the problem. Mama could support herself and Les, but we grew too fast and ate too much. So, we wrote her a note, stowed away on a train to Petersburg, and never looked back.”

Well, so much for only sharing _a little_ of their past.

Davey really didn’t want to know what the look on Jack’s face was like, but his voice was sympathetic.

”How old were you?”

”Nine.”

”And you never thought about going back?”

Davey shrugged, “Of course we did. But even if we knew what train to get on—which we don’t; I don’t remember what our hometown was called—how exactly would that go? Do you think our mama would be proud of us—her twins who grew up to be conmen?”

”I think she’d be happy to see you’re still alive.”

That was actually a fair point, but it was also possible that Jack was just projecting what he wanted to happen in Paris.

”Maybe,” Davey reasoned, “But we had to do some pretty shady things, surviving as two kids alone.”

”How _did_ you survive?” Jack asked curiously, “I mean, wilderness survival is one thing, but this city doesn’t seem like a place for children even _with_ parents.”

“It’s kind of not, but you learn when you have to.”

Jack elbowed him, and Davey laughed.

Honestly, his and Sarah’s survival had mostly been luck. They’d fallen in with the right gang to help them survive for a while and gotten out at the right time to be safe. Gotten good at the right skills and developed a system. Davey had learned battle strategy from books Sarah stole and used it to plan their next job. Sarah made all the right friends and Davey checked over the foraged documents they trafficked to make sure they looked real.

And every once in a while, Sarah would steal him a book just for a fun read. Davey would plot a job with a good enough payday that they got to get something nice to eat for their birthday.

Basically, they worked by playing off each other’s strengths and taking care of each other.

The way Jack was looking at him, he was clearly looking for a story, and Davey chuckled. He guessed his upbringing _had_ been rather theatrical.

“We grew up on the sly,” he began, “In the gutters and the streets of Petersburg. Just two kids on the fly, getting good at getting by.”

”Yeah, but _how_ did you do that?” Jack asked.

Honestly, that slightly-mischievous look in his eyes should be illegal.

”Well, Sarah was always better at actual stealing,” he admitted, “But I bartered for blankets, stole for our bread. Learned to take my chances and use my head. A Russian rat is clever, or he winds up dead. It boils down to, there are some there are some who survive, some who don’t. Some give up, some give in, some wind up black and blue.”

”Charming city,” Jack noted.

Davey shrugged, standing up on the edge of the bridge, “Welcome to my Petersburg.”

“You’re gonna fall.”

”No, I won’t. It’s not icy today.”

Jack grinned, “I’ll be sure to quote you on that when I fall.”

Davey was the one holding onto to the lamppost, so he let Jack hold his hand when he climbed up next to him instead, just for safety purposes.

”Standing here, you can see from the spires to the piers,” he pointed, “I’d be down on that quay, selling souvenirs Sarah stole from the palaces.”

He shrugged, “Funny, when a city is all you know. Even when you hate it, something in you loves it so.”

”Are you gonna miss it?” Jack asked.

”Well, it’s where I learned my stuff, mostly in rough company. But... it’s funny, how a city tells you when it’s time to go.”

”And it’s telling you that now?”

Davey nodded, “There’s nothing left to stay for. Sarah’s really all I need, and we’ve finally got an opportunity to get somewhere safer. You know... thanks to you.”

”Did you just admit that you need me?”

”Hey, it was you or some gutter boy who was a much worse actor.”

”Are you admitting that I’m good at something?” Jack gasped, “Who are you and what have you done with Davey Jacobs?”

”Shut up,” Davey laughed, “I didn’t say you were good. I said you were better than the other candidates. But, you know... as soon as we have enough to get tickets... you and I on the fly just in time.”

”You and I on the fly just in time,” Jack agreed, but some of the old nervousness was creeping back into his shoulders.

”But tonight, there’s a sky and quite a view,” Davey pointed out, nodding to the sky, where the stars were just starting to come out, reflecting in the water.

”We should probably enjoy it elsewhere,” Jack suggested, “Considering there’s probably spies watching us right now.”

”Fair point, Cowboy.”

He smiled a bit at the use of the nickname.

Davey hopped down, and Jack jumped after him before he could offer help.

Something felt different between them, now. Or maybe it was just Davey’s imagination.

They didn’t usually just stand a couple feet apart, just staring into each other’s eyes.

”Come on,” Davey said, “I’ve got something for you back at one of my and Sarah’s stashes.”

”Really? Finally gonna put me out of my misery, Jacobs?”

Davey laughed, “If I was going to kill you, trust me: I would have done it already. Come on.”

After only a second of hesitation, he offered a hand.

After another second of hesitation, Jack took it.

Holding his hand as they walked to the stash of stolen goods was just so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd.

Yeah, that was it.


	6. Once Upon a December

“I still feel like you’re going to murder me.”

”Oh, shut up. If I kill you, Sarah and I have to get rid of the body _and_ find a new Cowboy.”

Jack’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he realized that they were in a basement filled with old crates, presumably full of stuff.

Probably illegal or stolen goods, specifically.

”Is all this yours and Sarah’s?” he marveled.

”Nah, this basement is neutral territory. A bunch of smugglers use it as a stash space. There’s just a universal agreement not to steal each other’s stuff.”

”And a bunch of smugglers actually follow that?” Jack asked as Davey pried the lid off one crate.

”Absolutely,” he said, smiling, “Cause if one person robs another, and then the other robs the wrong person in retaliation, it’s just total chaos. The agreement is basically that it’s out of sight, out of mind. Nobody can see inside the crates, so everybody sticks to their own crates and doesn’t get tempted to steal anyone else’s stuff.”

”That system actually works?”

”Mostly. That would be why any smuggler or robber worth their salt has more than one stash. Now close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, “You think I trust you that much?”

”I’ll remind you again that killing you would be a hassle, but...” Davey looked at the ground, uncharacteristically uncertain, “ _Do_ you trust me?”

Jack shrugged. He tried not to smile, but kind of failed.

”I’m trying to.”

He closed his eyes and held out his hand, and then felt Davey put something small and round in it.

”Okay. You can open your eyes.”

When Jack opened his eyes...

It was a music box, with clearly expert craftsmanship and intricate detail despite the small size.

”It’s beautiful.”

”Yeah,” Davey shrugged, “And it’s initialed with a ‘c,’ so it was probably Cowboy’s. It’s broken, though. It won’t open no matter what I try.”

Jack turned the thing over in his hands, considering it.

No. It wasn’t _supposed_ to open. Not unless someone knew the trick.

There was a knob on the bottom that looked like just another screw, but Jack knew that it was a trick.

He turned the knob three times, winding it up, then opened the lid.

”How did you do that?” Davey asked, surprised, “I messed with that thing for days and I couldn’t get it to open.”

Jack wasn’t listening.

The melody it was playing was familiar. It was _undeniable_.

He could hear words in there, too. Words to a lullaby. Someone was singing softly, or was he the one singing? Was he singing out loud? He couldn’t tell. Only try to listen more carefully.

_”Dancing bears, painted wings. Things I almost remember. And a song someone sings, once upon a December.”_

_”Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully, across my memory.”_

Then Jack could see them. He didn’t know how, but he was standing in a ballroom, dancing in a circle with shadowy ghosts of people he almost recognized.

A young girl, maybe ten or eleven, with a green dress that matched her eyes and brown hair cropped short.

A boy only a little older, with dark eyes and hair, and, oddly, a shirt striped with blue and white.

A boy around thirteen or fourteen, dressed in a green that didn’t quite match the girl, his brown hair curly and his smile infectious.

A boy about the same age as the previous with blond hair and a mischievous smirk, dressed in a blue that matched his eyes.

And off to the side, a middle-aged woman with dark curls and eyes dressed all in pink, who was laughing with a boy leaning on a crutch who was only a little younger than Jack, with blond hair and brown eyes.

They were laughing at Jack and the ones he was dancing with, and Jack was laughing, too, as he spun around each of the younger children.

_”Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully across my memory.”_

Then Jack was sitting on the floor of a child’s bedroom, holding the music box when it was shiny and new.

The boy with the blond hair and the brown eyes and the crutch was sitting across from him, smiling and leaning in for a hug. They were both a lot younger; around maybe nine and ten?

_”Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember. Things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember...”  
_

”Happy birthday, big brother,” the younger boy whispered, “I love you.”

The music box played a lullaby made up by two little boys on the cold streets of St. Petersburg, a song to sing each other to sleep when nothing else would make them rest. A secret song nobody else knew.

_“And a song someone sings... once upon a December.”_

“Jack?”

Jack snapped back to reality, “Hmm?”

The memory of his brother’s face was already fading. All of their faces, no matter how hard Jack tried to remember them, were fading. Damn it.

”You... are you alright? You were just staring at that music box for a really long time.”

”I...” Jack didn’t want to explain what had just happened, “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you. It’s just... I think I’ve seen it before.”

Davey chuckled, “Maybe you have. It was probably Cowboy’s, after all.”

There was a twinge of hurt at how he clearly didn’t believe that Jack was actually Cowboy, which was bad because...

Five brothers and one sister. Jack had daydreamed five brothers and one sister, all the right ages and physical appearances, though... _damn it_ , their faces were gone already.

One of them was still alive, and he knew where to find him.

He had to get to Paris.

”I got my pay this morning,” he said, pulling the little bit of money out of his pocket and handing it to Davey, “It’s not much, but every little bit counts.”

Davey shook his head, “I can’t take your money, Jack.”

”It’s _our_ money. We both need to get the hell out of Russia.”

“Jack, you don’t get it.”

” _What_ don't I get? Train tickets to Paris are expensive, and—“

“Jack!” Davey took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “We’re not even close to the kind of cash we need for exit papers and tickets. Sarah and I have pawned off everything we have and we still don’t have anywhere near enough. Prices raise with every border they close, and... I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you, but at this point, it’s going to take a miracle.”

Jack scoffed, “How long have you known?”

”Since last week. They’re closing the last stretch of border _tomorrow night._ There’s no way we can make enough to make that, no matter _what_ we do. I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have—“

”Damn right you shouldn’t have kept it from me,” Jack grumbled.

He had to do some very quick math here.

If he trusted Davey with this and he was wrong, he would be in very big trouble. But if he _didn’t_ , they wouldn’t get out of Russia and he would still be in big trouble, just with more to lose.

Screw it.

”Now it’s your turn to close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

”Jack, I’m not taking your—“

”Just do it, Davey.”

Davey sighed melodramatically and closed his eyes, holding out his hand.

Well, here went nothing.

”You can open them now.”

Davey’s eyes widened as soon as he looked in his hand, “Jack, oh my God.”

”I know, right?”

“This is a diamond, Jack.”

”I know.”

”And you’ve just had it this whole time?!”

”A nurse in Perm found it in my coat,” Jack explained, “She hid it from me till the day I could go. She said ‘don’t tell a soul till the moment you must.’ I had to be sure I found someone I trust.”

“And...” Davey looked surprised, “You’re trusting _me_?”

“Please don’t tell me I was wrong to.”

”I could run off with this,” he warned, “I know this city better than you. You’d never see me again.”

”I know,” Jack challenged, “Are you going to?”

For a terrifying moment, he didn’t know what he was going to do.

He wasn’t expecting Davey to hug him fiercely, squeezing so tight Jack could feel his ribs through his shirt.

”Bad news!”

Sarah’s voice carried down the stairs to the basement as she ran down, “The palace was raided! Everything’s gone! I managed to grab most of our money stash, but—“

At that point, Davey showed her the diamond.

”Holy _mother_ of Moses. Davey—“

”He’s had it on him the whole time!” Davey exclaimed.

”I didn’t trust you with it!” Jack added with equal enthusiasm.

”Smart decision,” Sarah admitted.

”Okay, Sazzy, I’ll go get a deal started for exit papers and train tickets, you go fence the diamond, and Jack...”

”My job owes me my last payday,” he said quickly, “Every little bit counts, right?”

”Absolutely. Hurry! Meet at the train station!”


	7. Stay, I Pray You

“Alright, so, we’ve got our tickets, our exit papers...” Davey seemed to be thinking hard, as usual. Trying to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.

”And I packed us some snacks,” Sarah added.

”Sna—“ Davey cut off, realizing what he was saying, “What are you, twelve?”

”It’s a long train ride, Davey.”

”I’ve got some of the money,” Jack said, hoping to avoid another Jacobs sibling spat.

”Great,” Davey said absentmindedly, “I’ve got the rest. Which means... we should be good to go.”

Jack looked around, “So... I know our reason for fleeing the country, but who are all these people?”

”Nobles,” Sarah responded, “The last few left in the country, at least. And intellectuals. You know, the kind of people the Bolsheviks don’t want around. The kind of people Davey and I pretend to be.”

”I don’t _pretend_ to be an intellectual, you—“

”Yeah, can you two _not_ today?” Jack asked. He was already on-edge today, just waiting for something to go wrong.

The twins settled for shooting each other nasty looks, and Jack moved so that he _wasn’t_ right in between that.

Jack jumped as he realized someone unfamiliar was right next to him, and he was even more startled as that person grabbed his hand unexpectedly.

It was a young man, maybe a year or two younger than him, with brown hair and eyes.

Jack had no idea what to think when he bowed.

”Uh... do I know you?” he asked.

The man stood up, looking kind of confused, but then shook his head with a small smile.

”No. Just... have a safe trip.”

”Uh... you, too?”

The guy walked away.

”Did you know that guy?” Sarah asked quietly, and Jack jumped again. He hadn’t realized she was right behind him.

”No. Did you?”

She nodded grimly, “That was Count Benjamin Davenport. He’s not only a noble, but an intellectual as well.”

Jack watched as Count Davenport walked to the edge of the platform, looking out at what little of the view was visible from the station.

The train was announced, but nobody was getting on it yet.

Count Davenport was talking, and Jack could just barely hear him from where he was, and he seemed to be talking to Russia, herself.

”How can I desert you? How to tell you why. Let me have a moment. Let me say goodbye... to bridge and river, forest and waterfall, orchard, sea, and sky.“

Judging by the look on everyone else on the platform’s faces, they could hear him, too.

Even when you were escaping somewhere dangerous, leaving your home was never easy.

”Harsh and sweet and bitter to leave it all,” Jack heard a woman mumble to who he assumed was her husband.

”I’ll bless my homeland till I die,” the husband said back.

Jack exchanged a look with Sarah and Davey, all three of them seeming to realize simultaneously that...

That they were leaving. They were never coming back. They would never see Russia again.

Even if they each had a million bad memories here, it was still home. It was something they knew, at least.

There was something scary about going somewhere completely unknown, not even knowing if you’d have a home when you got there.

”Never to return,” Jack thought aloud.

”Finally breaking free,” Davey muttered, “But you are all I know.”

Jack looked up at what would be his last glimpse of Russian sky, ”You have raised me.”

”How to turn away?” Sarah mumbled uneasily, “How to close the door? How to go where I have never gone before.”

The train whistle blew, and everyone hesitated for one more minute.

Then one woman headed for the door.

A family with a young boy followed her.

Davey put a hand on Jack’s shoulder as more people got on the train, including Count Davenport.

”Come on,” he mumbled, grabbing his bag and following Sarah.

Jack picked up his own bag, stalling one more second.

”I’ll bless my homeland till I die.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a promise or just a statement.

Whatever it was, Jack left it hanging in the air, following Davey and Sarah onto the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Buttons (Count Davenport) recognized Jack because he was best friends/mutual crushes/childhood sweethearts with Elmer. He didn’t tell Jack that because he didn’t want to remind him of painful memories if he didn’t already recognize him. :(


	8. We’ll Go From There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy Sarah’s perspective for the first time!

“You know,” Sarah mumbled around one of the snacks she’d packed, “Whenever Katherine used to tell me about train rides, she always made them sound more glamorous than this.”

”Well, there’s no first class anymore,” Davey pointed out, “Everyone is _equal_ now.”

In theory, that was good, but it didn’t mean Sarah couldn’t bitch internally about it.

As another person squeezed in on the seat with them, Sarah thought she probably had a _right_ to bitch. Four people to a seat that was technically only made for two was ridiculous, even if all these people were desperate and needed to get out of the country fast.

”So, do you think we can actually pull this off?” she asked Davey quietly.

He shrugged, “I think Jack’s as ready as he’ll ever be. It all depends on if _you_ can get us close to the prince.”

”Don’t remind me.”

God, it had been almost ten years since she last saw Katherine. They’d been carefree teenagers, rebelling for fun and honestly not caring much if they got caught.

Now, they were women. Sarah was realizing that she was an old maid. Not that she cared, but being twenty-six did make her think about life was short and she’d spent almost a good half of hers so far stuck on one woman. A woman she hadn’t even seen in a decade.

Well, if she had to be stuck on someone, Katherine was certainly not the worst person to be stuck on.

Sarah was pulled out of her thoughts when Jack started talking loudly.

”How dare you smoke without my permission!”

”Ja-Jack,” Davey squeaked in a panicked voice that Sarah would laugh at if she wasn’t also completely panicked.

”And just who do you think you are?” the fourth man on the bench asked.

_Don’t do it. Don’t._

“I am the Grand Duke Cowboy Sullivan-Larkin.”

“I’m in a compartment with a crazy man!”

Well, at least the man moved, leaving the seat just to the three of them.

”Warn us before you do that!” Davey chided, clearly exasperated.

”Sorry,” Jack said defensively, “I just wanted to see what it felt like to say that I was him.”

Davey sighed, putting a hand on his arm, “Don’t worry. You’ll get plenty of practice in Paris.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. Those two were getting _dangerously_ close.

She knew firsthand how hard falling in love with a noble was when you were a commoner. _Especially_ when the noble was the same gender as you. You could never end up together in the end. You’d always be sneaking around _at best_.

Best to distract them now.

”Your first challenge will be the Countess Katherine Pulitzer-Plumber,” she explained, “She’s Crutchie Larkin’s best friend, his constant and _only_ companion. No one gets to him without getting through her first.”

“She sounds like some kind of dragon,” Jack muttered.

”On the contrary,” Sarah said, more dreamily than she meant to, “Kath was lovely. Smart, beautiful, and completely unattainable. Of course... that _was_ ten years ago.”

“Wait,” Jack grinned, “ _That_ was who your lover was? You were in love with Countess Katherine?”

“Madly,” Sarah confirmed, “But, I loved my brother more. When she fled Russia, I refused to go with her and stole some diamonds to keep us alive.”

”If she loved you as much as you loved her, I’m sure you can get her back,” Jack said optimistically.

”Oh, I can get her back. Won’t be a problem.”

Sarah wished she was really as confident as she sounded. She really _hoped_ Katherine would be happy to see her, but...

In truth, Kath was quite possibly still mad at her. She’d always been able to match Sarah for stubbornness.

Plus, Sarah wasn’t the same young, beautiful teenager she’d once been.

Nope. She shouldn’t think like that. The way to Kath’s heart had always been her mind; not her eyes.

Sure, Sarah had managed to gain a little weight in the last ten years, but that probably wouldn’t matter.

Davey and Jack were both up, wandering around, so Sarah thought aloud a bit.

”I’ll win her,” she tried to say confidently, “We’ll do some reminiscing. She’ll see what she’s been missing over wine and dinner. And if she says no... we’ll all lay low, and we’ll go from there.”

...

The ‘fresh’ air didn’t really do much to help Jack’s nerves, but he stood the open window, anyway.

His hands were shaking and his heart was thundering.

”Meet the royal mess,” he muttered sarcastically.

Nope. Don’t think like that. Be positive.

”Start smiling,” he told himself, “Stop wondering... why did I say yes?”

Admittedly, he hadn’t really had a choice. Even if he had, it was definitely much too late to back out now. That was a little uncomfortable to think about.

“This chance is all I’ve got.”

...

”This chance is all I’ve got,” Davey reminded himself, “Get a grip and take a deep breath and... soon we’ll know what’s what. Put on our show, rewards will flow, and we’ll go from there.”

He should probably go find Jack and go back to Sarah. Splitting up wasn’t a good idea.

”Hey,” he said, finding Jack by an open window, just staring at the passing countryside. He wasn’t far from the seat where Sarah was.

”Are you okay? Your hands are shaking.”

Jack shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t remember having a brother. I know I want to get to him, but...”

He trailed off, staring into the distance.

Davey really wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t really know how.

”Well, siblings can be annoying and terrible,” he ended up saying, “But also... I know Sarah would do anything for me, because that’s how it is. You annoy them on purpose, but you would also help them bury a body if necessary.”

That did make Jack smile, and Davey ignored the flutter in his chest.

Speak of the devil, apparently.

Sarah was getting up and walking over to avoid the advances of some man she could probably knock out in her sleep.

”What a lovely ride,” she said sarcastically.

”And what a lovely day,” Davey agreed.

”A great day for a _totally illegal_ lovely get away,” Jack agreed.

”But no more doubt,” Sarah said quickly.

Davey nodded, “No time to spare.”

”We’re nearly out,” Jack muttered.

Davey grabbed his hand to try to keep him present, “So let’s prepare. We’ll go from there.”

Wait... was the train slowing down?

No. It was stopping. Everyone was going back to their seats for their stuff, but...

They hadn’t been going long enough to be past the border yet. Shit.

Jack was pretending to read a book when the soldiers came up to their row, but he was physically shaking with fear.

”What’s going on, officers?” Davey asked, hoping to keep their attention on him.

”We’re looking for someone who’s illegally leaving the country.”

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

“Oh?” Sarah asked, her panic obvious to Davey but imperceptible to the soldiers, “Wrong papers?”

”Right papers. Wrong name. Count Benjamin Davenport.”

There was a gunshot coming from the back of the train.

”As you were, citizens,” one of the soldiers said, turning around and leaving.

”I’ll go...” Sarah took a deep breath, “I’ll go see what happened.”

”We all know what happened,” Davey said gravely.

Still, Sarah clearly didn’t want to stay in her seat. She stood up just as the train started moving, just a slow crawl towards the border.

Davey glanced at Jack and realized that he was still rigid, those hazel eyes staring into nothing as tears slid down his face.

Sarah noticed, too, and sighed.

”Calm him down. Any tears will betray us.”

With that, she headed for the back of the train.

”Hey,” Davey whispered, putting his hands on Jack’s shoulders, “Hey, it’s okay. We’re safe. We’ll be alright.”

Jack’s eyes shifted to him, but Davey felt a chill at how he wasn’t looking _at_ him so much as _through_ him.

”That’s what the soldiers said when they were pointing their guns at us.”

Davey was now extremely worried and extremely confused, “What?”

”‘It’ll be alright,’ they said,” Jack breathed hyperventilating a little as he rambled, “‘We’re going to a safe place, but we can only take one of you at a time.’ I was so scared, but I couldn’t show it because the others needed me to be strong. I had Race under one arm and Romeo under the other and I told them, ‘they’re good men, they won’t hurt us.’ But I just kept hearing gunshots and—“

”Jack,” Davey cut him off, “Hey. You’re taking this too far. And that’s on me. I’m sorry. You don’t remember your past, so everything I’ve told you about Cowboy’s family is getting mixed up with your fear.”

Jack’s eyes were wild and still terrified when he finally focused on Davey’s face, “What if I really am him?”

“Jack...”

”You put these ideas in my head,” Jack said, hushed but urgent, “But I’m starting to think they might be _true_.”

He was serious. Davey didn’t know how to deal with that.

“Hey! Big problem, boys! We need to go, _right now!_ ”

Sarah had run to them, and was clearly trying hard not to talk too loud when she was scared.

Anything that could scare his sister, Davey was _definitely_ wary of.

”Why?”

”There are soldiers still on the train. They’re looking for three fugitives!”

”That could be anyone,” Davey pointed out, “We don’t know it’s—“

”I don’t think so,” Sarah interrupted impatiently, “They’re looking for two young men and a young woman.”

“We need to get off the train.”

While Davey agreed with Jack’s sentiment, he didn’t know how they were supposed to do that while the train was _moving,_ gaining speed quickly.

Jumping was _not_ what he had in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry, Buttons! At least you’re with your boyfriend, now!


	9. Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for lots of angst and Spot’s inner turmoil! :D

Spot’s orders were clear.

If that young man really was Cowboy, kill him in Paris.

If he wasn’t, drag him back to Petersburg for a public execution.

Neither option was particularly appealing.

Spot didn’t know what to do.

He was fairly certain he wasn’t Cowboy. Sure, that ‘Jack’ boy had looked an awful lot like him, but he hadn’t recognized him. Spot hadn’t changed _that_ much in ten years. Even if he had, the story he’d told would have revealed him.

If Jack was Cowboy, he would’ve known it was Spot. They’d never been close friends, but the eldest prince had always had an interest in keeping an eye on Spot because of his relationship with his brother.

Spot took a deep breath. He still had trouble thinking about Race. Their relationship was a strange one—too old to be childhood sweethearts and too young to be lovers—but it was real nonetheless, no matter how much Spot sometimes wished it wasn’t.

He didn’t regret a single moment spent with that boy, but a part of him wished he could forget it, anyway.

Cowboy had always somewhat resented him for that relationship, whatever it was. He was a bit over-protective of his siblings, so he’d somewhat _stalked_ Spot to make sure Race wouldn’t get hurt.

Jack had just seemed scared of him, so there was no way he was who he was pretending to be.

Spot half wished he was, just because it was what Race would have wanted.

Even though he wasn’t, Spot still didn’t really want to kill Jack. He... God, he didn’t know what he thought of him.

On the one hand, he was mixed up with the Jacobs siblings. It was possible they were manipulating him.

On the other, he could be just as bad as them, and that might be why he hadn’t cared when Spot told him their crimes.

”An underhanded man?” he wondered aloud to his empty office, “Or an act of desperation? Either way, I let him go.”

Spot wasn’t stupid. He knew that a lot of the poorer citizens of Russia had nothing and would do anything to get something.

”He wants what he can get. Is that a fair depiction?”

There was, of course, the fact that he could just be insane and Spot wouldn’t be able to tell. People convinced themselves of all sorts of things when they were desperate.

”Does he believe his fiction..? It’s hard to know. Is it innocence or guile or nothing but a childish act of will?”

Of course, thinking of fictions, things people had convinced themselves of, made Spot think of his own perception of things. How he’d convinced himself that his father and the other soldiers killing the Larkins was justified. That it was needed for the good of the country, no matter what Spot personally felt.

”A son becomes a man at his father’s knee. If my father asked questions... where would we be?”

If Spot’s father had asked questions, Race might still be alive.

And... well, he hadn’t known the others that well, but Smalls used to invite him to her mock tea parties, and he’d play with her and Romeo and sometimes Elmer in his free time. Queen Medda had always been polite and kind to _everyone,_ even lowly sons of guards. Crutchie had had a meaningful talk about Race’s feelings with him once, not quite a shovel talk but not quite just a friendly chat, either.

Spot had understood the reasoning behind the regicide, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t mourned when no one was looking. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to breathe sometimes, thinking of Race, who had never quite acted like a prince to anyone.

_Especially_ not to Spot.

As just some soldier cadet, he’d often wondered why a prince even wanted him, but Race would never give him a straight answer of _what_ exactly he saw in him. It had become something of a running joke between them; Spot asking ‘why him when Race could have anyone’ and Race answering ‘something that was vaguely sweet but also not directly an answer.’

_”I was born in a gutter,”_ he’d told him once, _“I know how to recognize something with value.”_

Whenever he asked for clarification, Race would just laugh and ask Spot to teach him to break someone’s arm or something.

Spot understood the reasoning behind the regicide, but that didn’t mean... it didn’t mean he didn’t wish Race was still alive.

_No! Don’t think like that. Focus on the task at hand._

“Is he someone that needs protection?” Spot muttered to himself.

Jack was either someone very naive or someone very smart, the way he seemed to deal with David and Sarah Jacobs. Spot didn’t know which it was yet, but...

God, his eyes really did look like Race’s big brother’s. And there was something in there that Spot recognized; the look of someone who had lost something important to them.

”I feel a strange connection... I can’t allow.”

Spot couldn’t let himself be distracted by someone who looked like the brother of someone he loved. This man wasn’t Cowboy. He needed to remember that.

”He says it’s all a game, but in him, there’s a power.”

Intentionally or not, Jack had manipulated Spot into letting him go. He couldn’t let that happen again.

Even if this man looked like Cowboy, even if he was an innocent who had no idea what he was really doing, Spot knew what he had to do.

”I see that now I am nothing but a man with his orders to fulfill. But still...“

_”He’s not so bad, Spottie,”_ Race said gently in Spot’s mind, _“He’s only tough on you because he loves me. He’s a good brother. But he’s dumb, too. Paranoid. He’ll figure out that you’re not going to hurt me eventually.”_

Spot shook his head, forcing that playful smile out of his vision, that voice and that laugh out of his ears.

He didn’t know if he would have been able to shoot any of the Larkins when he was fourteen.

He would have to be strong enough to pull the trigger on this boy who _wasn’t_ Cowboy, now.

The revolution was the right thing. It had to be, or Race and his family died for nothing.

Spot had to get rid of the last possible threat to that revolution. He _had_ to.


	10. Journey to the Past

The forest in France looked...

Well, it looked pretty much exactly the same as the forest in Russia, except it _wasn’t_ Russia. It wasn’t home.

Davey didn’t know why he missed it. It wasn’t like there was anything for him back there. No money to his name, no safety, no way to find Mama or Les and no guarantee they’d be welcomed even if he did find them...

Missing Russia was stupid, and Davey usually prided himself on _not_ being stupid.

But despite himself, he did miss it, no matter how much Sarah claimed that ‘Russia was not the world.’

Oh well. At least Jack seemed to understand the feeling, though he’d been on-edge since the train.

Davey knew that Count Davenport’s death had affected him more than he would admit. He was different, now. And even though he seemed now to be confident more often than not, it was the spaces between the strength that worried Davey.

He spaced off a lot, had nightmares nearly every night, and woke up and said things that he didn’t seem to fully remember once he calmed down.

The things he said... images of death and fear...

Davey was almost afraid to know what might lie in Jack’s past.

Afraid to know if it was the loss of an entire family at the hands of revolutionaries, or something equally horrible.

Anything that could give him nightmares like that had to terrible.

Davey thought of all this as he watched Jack run off to chat with the driver they’d paid to get them this far.

”Look at him,” he marveled to Sarah, “Rattling off on French with the driver... you taught him well, sis.”

Sarah looked at him in a sad, kind of uncomfortable way.

”He’ll break your heart, Davey.”

Davey rolled his eyes, “What do you know?”

He’d given up denying that he had feelings for Jack to her. She wouldn't believe him when he said that, anyway, so there was no point.

And maybe... as much as Davey hated to admit it even to himself... maybe there _were_ feelings there.

“I know that if the prince accepts him as his brother,” she said reproachfully, “You will _never_ see him again.”

_...oh_.

That was one thing Davey hadn’t thought of.

He quickly schooled his expression as Jack came running over.

”He said this is as far as he goes,” he reported, “But from the top of that hill, you can _just_ see Paris!”

“We made it!” Sarah exclaimed, seeming to forget their previous conversation as she grabbed her bag and ran for the hill Jack had pointed to.

”Great!” Davey made an effort to avoid eye contact with the other man as he ran after her.

He knew he’d be spending tonight thinking about this.

The idea of never seeing Jack again was...

Well, it definitely wasn’t as appealing as it had been a month ago.

He’d come to love learning new things about Jack. From his favorite color to the slightly different accent his voice took on when he played the part of Cowboy. He loved telling Jack things he’d read and memorized over the years to calm him after a nightmare, loved patiently encouraging him as Jack tried to stretch his memory and recall his past.

Davey loved...

He pushed those thoughts away. For now, they’d made it to Paris, and that was all that mattered.

...

Jack couldn’t believe it. They were finally in Paris. Which meant—

Which meant Crutchie was down there in that city. He was _so_ close, and Jack couldn’t wait to see him.

But he was also terrified, because... because what if he didn’t recognize him? What if Jack wasn’t who he—

_No. Stop thinking like that._

”Heart, don’t fail me now,” he mumbled as he walked after Davey and Sarah, following their excited voices as they exclaimed about being able to see the Eiffel Tower.

”Courage, don’t desert me. Don’t turn back now that we’re here.”

Jack paused by a tree, half afraid to even climb the hill. He was so close.

He was terrified.

”People always say ‘life is full of choices.’ No one ever mentions fear.”

Jack took a deep breath. The world seemed vast and wide, and that was kind of scary, but he could do this. He needed to keep going and find his family.

He had a brother down there in that city who had been waiting for him for the last ten years. He needed to get to him. He had to believe that this was right.

”Somewhere down this road, I know someone’s waiting,” he told himself as he started walking again, “Years of dreams just _can’t_ be wrong. Arms will open wide, I’ll be safe and wanted, finally home where I belong.”

Jack picked up the pace, reaching the top of the hill quickly.

Davey and Sarah were hugging each other tightly and laughing, and as adorable as that was, it made something in Jack’s chest twinge.

Those two had each other. He didn’t have anyone.

Or, maybe he did.

“Home, love, family,” he muttered, standing a short distance off, “There was once a time I must have had them, too.”

Clinging to... well, not quite an image, even, but an _idea_ of a brother, Jack steeled his determination. He needed to find Crutchie.

”I will never be complete until I find you.”

He managed not to jump as Davey put an arm around him.

”We would never have made it here without you,” he said, “We did it, Jack. We’re here!”

Jack found himself staring at the excitement on Davey’s face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him this happy, and it was making it a little hard to focus.

He ended up nodding, “Yeah. Almost. So, let’s get going!”

Sarah laughed, “Somebody’s impatient.”

”Oh, you’re one to talk,” Davey pointed out, “Are you really gonna say you’re not excited to see Katherine?”

Sarah smacked him in the shoulder, “Shut up.”

”If you’re going to argue, can you race to the bottom of the hill first?” Jack asked pointedly.

Davey rolled his eyes, “We are not going to—“

”I can get there before you can!” Sarah yelled, grabbing her bag and taking off running.

”That is not fair, Sarah! You didn’t yell ‘ready, set, go!’”

Jack laughed. It sure was convenient, how easy it was to get them to take their argument somewhere he didn’t have to listen to it.

That, and it was convenient because he really didn’t want them to see how nervous he was.

”One step at a time,” he muttered, “One hope, then another. Who knows where this road may go?”

He didn’t know how this was going to go. He didn’t know how Crutchie was going to react to seeing him. After all, Davey and Sarah had warned that he’d probably seen imposter Cowboys before.

He had to believe that it would end in him finding a home. Otherwise, what was all this for?

”Back to who I was,” he said hopefully, “On to find my future. Things my heart still needs to know.”

There was still so much Jack didn’t know.

He had to believe he would find it down there in Paris.

”Let this be a sign,” he prayed, “Let this road be mine. Let it lead me to my past. And bring me home at last.”

With that hope, he took off running after Davey and Sarah.


	11. Paris Holds the Key (To Your Heart)

“ _Voila, mes amis!_ ” Sarah exclaimed as they started getting into the part of the city that actually looked like a city.

”Here’s Paris! Now that we’re here, follow me.”

”You’ve never actually been to Paris,” Davey pointed out, “Why should we follow you?”

”Because, brother dear, _your_ lover didn’t write exquisitely detailed poems about this city, did they? Oh right, you never had one, so no, they didn’t.”

Sarah _knew_ she’d never been to Paris. But Katherine had, a few times, and her writing had described it in such beautiful detail that Sarah knew exactly where they were.

That was just one of many things she’d loved about Katherine. How she could bring worlds to life with a typewriter like it was nothing. Like it was easy.

Jack and Davey were looking around at the scenery in wonder, but also sneaking glances at each other whenever possible. That was a problem. Sarah would have to distract at least _one_ of them.

”Paris turned the page to the new modern age,” she said, grabbing Davey’s elbow, “The French have it down to an art.”

”Have _what_ down to an art, exactly?”

”Don’t you know? I thought you were the intellectual, here.”

”Oh, explain then, if you know so much.”

Sarah laughed, “Here, everyone’s a writer, painter or poet. Everything is _avant garde_ or _chic_!”

“I don’t know what that means,” Davey said pointedly.

”It’s like saying it’s modern,” Jack explained, “In a good way.”

Sarah put herself between the boys, “We’ll be in the know before we know it! And it’ll be _magnifique_!”

“That means—“

”I can guess what that one means,” Davey interrupted, “Thanks, Jack.”

Sarah sighed as they came to a square filled with waltzing couples, a small band playing next to a fountain.

Davey looked like he wanted to ask Jack to dance, but knew he shouldn’t. That he _couldn’t_ , for multiple reasons.

Jack looked like he _wanted_ Davey to ask him to dance, but wasn’t confident enough to ask, himself.

Sarah was just preparing herself to break them up. The closer they got, the more it would hurt when they got forced apart, so she had to try not to let them get too close.

Ah, who was she kidding? They already were too close. Even if they couldn’t admit it to even themselves, she could see.

A young woman came up to Jack with a smile, asking, “ _Voulez-vous danser?_ ”

Jack looked back at Sarah and Davey, “Can I..?”

”It’ll be good practice,” Davey said with a shrug.

He was watching him with far too much longing.

Sarah wondered if that was what she’d looked like looking at Katherine.

She really hoped that this wouldn’t break him too bad.

...

Sarah and Jack were dancing with random Parisians, but Davey declined the one woman who asked him. He wasn’t the best dancer, anyway.

Besides, the only one he might possibly want to dance with—not that he did, but if he did want to, it would be that person—was already on the dance floor.

Sarah’s words kept playing on repeat in his head.

That if this succeeded, he would never see Jack again.

He wished he wasn’t bothered by that.

”Paris holds the key to his fate,” he muttered, “We won’t have much longer to wait. And then, come what may, we will each go our way...”

Him and Sarah would be set for life and Jack would have a family. It was a good outcome for all of them, but...

Jack looked over at him, and Davey tried not to let it show that he’d been staring, just panicking and flashing a thumbs up.

He could admit that he’d miss the spark in his smirk, but that was _it_.

...

Jack took a deep breath as he stepped off the dance floor, looking around.

Paris really was everything he’d expected and more.

“Hey,” he said, grinning probably _stupidly_ wide as he went back to where Davey was waiting for him.

”Hey,” Davey responded, “Having fun?”

Jack laughed, “I dreamed of a city beyond all compare. It’s hard to believe that I’m finally there.”

”Excited to meet your brother?”

That was one question that Jack wasn’t prepared to answer.

He was excited, yes, but also scared.

He didn’t exactly want Davey to know how terrified he was.

“At last there’s a future!”

They both jumped, not having realized Sarah was right next to them, yet again.

”There’s freedom!” Davey added, laughing off being startled.

Jack grinned, “There’s hope in the air!”

“I guess we could say that Paris holds the key to your heart,” Sarah said.

Davey snorted, “More like _your_ heart, Sazzy.”

She was blushing. She was definitely blushing.

Huh. That urge to join in Davey teasing her was almost instinctual.

“From what little you’ve told me about her, Katherine sounds pretty amazing.”

”Oh, she is,” Sarah admitted, “But she’s also...”

”Strong willed?” Davey suggested.

”Sure. She is, quite possibly, still mad at me.”

”It’s been ten years,” Jack pointed out.

Sure, stealing tended to make people mad at you, but a grudge against an ex-lover wouldn’t stay after ten years of probably thinking she was dead.

Sarah shot him a pointed look, “Keep in mind that Kath is your challenge as well. She _knew_ Cowboy. Probably better than anyone still alive except Crutchie himself. According to some accounts, they were a... _thing_ when they were in their early teens.”

”You don’t know for sure?”

She shrugged, “Believe it or not, Kath and I didn’t usually talk about her exes. I’ll try to find out for you, but remember: she knew him _personally_. If not as a lover, then as a close friend. You’ll need to _nail_ it.”

”No faith in me?” Jack asked.

Despite his earlier doubts, Jack was surprised to realize that he did have faith in himself.

He wasn’t sure yet if he was Cowboy, but he was sure that...

Well, more of his backstory matched up with being him than not.

Jack guessed Paris really did hold the key to his heart. Or, what he wanted most, at least.

A home. Love. A family.

They were _so_ close.

Hopefully.


	12. Crossing a Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance because this song is beautiful but this chapter is really short and it sucks.

Sarah had gone to look for Katherine at the ‘Neva Club,’ whatever that was. And Davey was back at the hotel, so Jack was exploring alone, wandering around and following the map in the guide book Davey had gotten him.

He came to a bridge by a square, which made him happier than it probably should.

It wasn’t like almost every city didn’t have bridges by squares, but this one felt... _right_ for some reason.

“ _Le Pont d’Alexandre_ ,” Jack muttered to himself, reading out of the book, “Better known as Alexander’s Bridge. Named for...”

King Alexander. Queen Medda’s father. Jack’s adoptive grandfather.

He... he already knew that. Or he should know that. He felt like someone had told him that before.

Probably Sarah or Davey, logically, but that didn’t feel right.

Jack looked at the sky, the Parisian sunset beautiful even if it made him feel homesick. It was reflected by the water, the colors bright and lovely.

This bridge was Alexander‘s, which, Jack guessed, meant that it was supposed to mean something to him.

Was he really Medda’s son? He didn’t know. He couldn’t be sure yet, but something about this bridge did feel like a connection.

He felt like he wasn’t supposed to be alone here, crossing this bridge. Someone else... someone important was supposed to be here with him.

There were boats coming in for the night, and Jack stopped halfway across the bridge to watch them.

Sailors coming home. He was coming home, too. Something was poetic about that.

If he listened closely, Jack thought he might be able to hear somebody calling him as the shadows started falling.

The memory or whatever it was was faint. He couldn’t really understand it, and he definitely didn’t know who it was calling.

Maybe it was his little brother, who was somewhere in this city.

Jack was halfway between where he’d been before and where he was going. In between wondering and knowing.

Somebody who knew him was waiting in this city. Jack could feel it.

Maybe they were sharing this beautiful night, Jack on the left bank of the river and whoever it was on the right. They were almost in sight.

Every light reflected in the water was like a promise. Every light could be a clue to his past.

One of them might be who he was looking for. The little brother he was hoping would know him.

Only one way to find out.


	13. Close the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracks knuckles* MAJOR angst time!

Katherine rolled her eyes as she wiped her hand on her skirt. Count Delancey was so annoying.

She didn’t know why he hadn’t gotten the hint that he wasn’t getting the Larkin fortune. She was pretty sure Crutchie would rather throw it all in the Seine than give it to him. He was either extremely persistent or just very stupid, and Kath didn’t really care which it was. She didn’t like him either way.

”Is he gone?”

”Yeah, it’s safe!” Kath called back.

Crutchie was smirking as he limped into the room, “You’d think he’d take a hint by now.”

”You’d think,” Kath agreed, “But, I guess we can only expect so much from a stupid ape like that.”

Crutchie rolled his eyes, ”It’s like he thinks the crutch affects how smart I am. _As if_ I’d give Mama’s money to that guy.”

”He _is_ the closest living heir after you,” Kath reasoned, “And since you don’t want children...”

”Oh, go write a poem, Katherine.”

Kath laughed. She loved Crutchie in the way that truly good friends did, which meant that they antagonized each other to no end. And since the illness that had crippled him had made it unlikely that he could ever have children, she had an excuse to live with him and _not_ marry him.

“Has the mail come yet?”

That was the one thing Kath didn’t like about living with her best friend.

Crutchie had a right to hold out hope that he was still alive, but...

Damn it, Cowboy had been Kath’s friend as well as Crutchie’s brother. It hurt like a wound being torn open again and again to keep remembering him, to have her best friend talk about her _dead_ friend as if he was still alive.

Still, she shrugged, holding up what mail had come.

”Only three letters today.”

“If only I could give up hope entirely,” Crutchie said dryly, “But who knows? Maybe today, one of them will actually be Cowboy.”

Kath bit her lip to keep from sharing her true thoughts.

She was fairly certain that Cowboy was dead. _She_ had barely escaped Russia, and she hadn’t even been at the palace for the massacre. Crutchie had gotten away mostly out of luck, and he’d caught the last train before borders started getting closed. Cowboy hadn’t been on it with him, so Kath didn’t see a way he could have made it out.

She wanted to believe that he was alive, too. Of course she did. But there was no evidence. The fact that they never found his body didn’t mean he was alive.

As Crutchie looked over one of the letters, Kath skimmed another, then snorted. It was absurd, honestly.

”Oh, Crutch. This one’s _good_.”

”How so?”

”Dear Crutchie,” she read aloud, “Strange and bizarre events have brought me to Buenos Aires, Argentina.”

Crutchie laughed, “ _Argentina_? And just how in the world would Cowboy get there?”

”It gets better,” Kath said, and continued reading, “I miss you so much. Bring me to Paris, and I will prove to you that I’m Cowboy.”

”He wants me to pay his passage?”

Kath rolled her eyes, “Looks like Count Delancey isn’t the only one who thinks the crutch makes you stupid.”

Crutchie snorted, “Wow. Honestly, Kath, _wow_. That’s another level. I might respond to that one just to tell him ‘nice try, but I’m not a total idiot.’ At least that little imposter from Cleveland paid his own way. Where even _is_ Cleveland, by the way? Sounds terrible.”

Kath shrugged, “I think it’s in America.”

”Oh, that explains why he was such a bad actor.”

”I guess so.”

They were both trying to pretend it was funny.

Nothing could really be funny.

All these young men pretended to be Cowboy, but none of them ever actually were.

”What does the last one say?”

Kath ripped it open and read aloud, “My dearest brother—“

”Cowboy never would have said that. I was ‘Crutchie’ or ‘little bro’ or ‘grumpy’ or... what _bullshit_ , thinking he would write like that.”

His tone had gone from humorous to angry in an instant, and Kath didn’t blame him.

It made her angry, too, to see that so many people were willing to hurt her best friend just for money.

It half made her glad that there were no rumors of any of the others surviving. Because hearing from fake Races, fake Romeos, fake Elmers and Smallses... it might just kill them both.

”I keep hoping one of them will be him, but then they never are,” Crutchie muttered, “It’s just... I _miss_ him, Kath.”

Kath nodded, “I miss him, too.”

He was silent for a second, then sighed.

”No more letters. No more interviews. I give up. I just... I’m done.”

As much as it hurt to watch him continue to believe that Cowboy was coming home, watching him give up hope was decidedly worse.

”Whoa, Crutch, are you—“

”I’m _sure_ , Katherine. And I know you gave up on him a long time ago, so don’t even try. I’m done. Get rid of these letters and any more that come. We’ll announce that the Cowboy Prince of Russia is dead at the soonest press conference you can organize.”

Kath half wanted to argue.

But she didn’t. She just picked up the letters and left the room.

...

Crutchie couldn’t decide if he was sad or angry.

It was probably both.

It was definitely both.

He was angry that his family got killed in the first place, angry that people kept trying to convince him that Cowboy hadn’t been, and angry that people thought he was stupid enough to not know who _wasn’t_ his own brother.

And he was sad that his family was dead, sad that Cowboy hadn’t turned out to be the exception, and sad that these people were desperate enough to try to impersonate him.

”These strangers come calling,” he muttered to himself, “Soon enough, they’re gone.”

The young men always looked like Cowboy, the ones that got past Kath. Of course they did, or they wouldn’t have gotten past her at all.

It always hurt to see their faces and realize that he didn’t know what his brother would look like anymore. It had been too long, even for the oldest among them. Then it hurt more to realize that they _weren’t_ his brother and kick them out in the streets.

Looking out his window, Crutchie watched as the twilight fell. The lamps would come on soon.

“Where does summer go?” he wondered aloud, “I will never know. Summer used to last endlessly. Children all in white running down the sand with... with me.”

He almost choked on the memory.

He hadn’t been able to run as fast as the others, naturally, and even little Smalls had squealed in delight when she outpaced him, ecstatic that she could outrun _one_ of her brothers, though Romeo, Elmer, and Race still ran ahead, taunting her for being slow.

Cowboy always stuck with him, complaining melodramatically that he was the slowest sibling even though they all knew damn well that he was the _fastest_ , besides maybe Race.

None of the imposters ever remembered that detail, among other things Crutchie asked. It was the small, random, personal details that always betrayed them.

“These strangers, sent packing. What do they expect?” Crutchie clenched his fist around the grip of his crutch, “So grasping, so lacking... why not be direct?”

They all wanted money. Or power. Whatever they wanted, they were willing to hurt Crutchie and Kath to get it. It made him want to punch them.

Too often, he heard his little sister and one or two of his brothers in his ear, encouraging him to do exactly that.

He never did. It wasn’t a prince’s place to punch people in the face.

Besides, some of them were just desperate. Poor people who _needed_ money. Those were the ones that were the worst, because it wasn’t actually their fault.

There were a few that other people—parents or employers—had put them up to it, and those were bad, too, because they were usually bad people, but also just pawns of someone worse.

At least being angry at the ones who genuinely didn’t need money—just wanted it—and didn’t care who they hurt to get it was easy and simple.

They always thought Crutchie wouldn’t be smart enough to recognize that they _weren’t_ his brother.

But no matter how hard any of them tried or how much homework they did, they couldn’t replicate Cowboy Larkin. He was truly one is a kind.

”The beating of my heart after they depart keeps me wide awake through the night.”

That was true. Crutchie didn’t sleep much. He saw all too often that terrible night, heard gunshots and screams and felt that terrible fear, wondering if Cowboy and Race were still alive because they were already the last three still breathing and—

And Crutchie had gotten on a train, arrived in Paris, and waited on the Pont d’Alexandre for _days_ , knowing if his brothers were coming, they’d come there.

Kath had showed up three days later, but Race and Cowboy never did.

”Will you ever come running home to me?” Crutchie tried to control himself before a sob slipped out, “You might. You might.”

He _really_ wanted to believe that Cowboy was still alive, even if Race and the others weren’t, because he... he couldn’t be the last one. He couldn’t do this alone. He _couldn’t_.

“I’ve believed so long,” he said shakily, tears staining the window when he leaned his forehead against it, “I have dared to hope that the door might open and you might... enter.”

Crutchie’s shoulders shook as he kept recalling memories from a happier time, when he was one of six and not alone, with only a friend for company.

He loved Katherine. He really did. But she wasn’t the same and she wasn’t enough.

”Playing hide and seek...”

Romeo always won. Nobody knew how he did it, but none of them could ever find him when the six of them played, using the entire palace.

Elmer was hilariously bad at it. He _never_ won. More often than not, it took the seeker less than a minute to find him, and the memory of his pout just made Crutchie cry harder.

”Kisses on my cheek...”

Each of his siblings had kissed him on the cheek on his fifteenth birthday, so long ago. They’d all sang to him and danced and they’d all been happy and everything was alright and...

And that was over ten years ago.

The lamps were going on in the street. Night was falling.

”In my heart I know...” Crutchie took a deep, shuddering breath, “You’re a _lie_ that I’ve waited for.”

It felt like a betrayal. Cowboy had _never_ given up on him. Not even when they were two starving kids in an alleyway and it would’ve been easier for him to survive if he let Crutchie starve.

But Cowboy was gone. He was _dead_. Crutchie had just spent the last decade denying it, like the child he still had to struggle to get people not to see him as.

“Tell them all to go. Tell them all _no more_... Tell them I closed the door.”

No more imposters.

Crutchie’s big brother was dead.

Maybe if he said it enough times in his head, he’d actually be able to bring himself to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *added after the chapter was published*   
> Guys, sorry, but I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up. I’m just saying it now: All the Larkins are dead besides Crutchie and Jack. Sorry. :(


	14. Land of Yesterday

Spot, so far, didn’t like Paris.

For one thing, he’d gotten lost four times trying to find the Neva Club.

For another, the guy guarding it wasn’t letting him _in_ the Neva Club, and was under the assumption that he was looking for a job serving those snobby nobles.

God, besides the Larkins themselves, Spot had always hated the lot of them. They thought being born in a certain situation made them better than everyone else. Given a choice, he’d stay as far away from this damn club as he possibly could.

But orders were orders, and if there was one place the Jacobs siblings were likely to take Jack to try to find Crutchie, it was the Neva Club. Practically every rich Russian in Paris was there.

“Count Gregory! How was the ballet!”

Oh, shit.

That was _Katherine._

Honestly, Spot had thought she was dead. She was probably the only noble he hadn’t hated outside of Race’s family, because she was smart, compassionate, and wasn’t on the kind of high horse pretty much all of the others put themselves on.

She was a couple years older than Spot was, and she’d been something of a ‘cool older sister’ type friend, though things had been awkward between them during the short time where she and Cowboy were together.

He shouldn’t be so happy and relieved to see her alive, but he was.

It was dangerous to realize that he’d missed her and he wished he could get her advice on this. This mission he didn’t want to complete.

He guessed he was lucky that she didn’t see him before going into the club.

Spot gave up trying to get in. If he’d recognized Kath, she would definitely recognize him, and that would be a very awkward conversation.

He’d have to find another way to find Jack.

...

”Thank God for the Neva Club!”

”Time has stood still here!”

”The best place left in the world!”

Kath would roll her eyes if she wasn’t already a little buzzed.

Unlike the rest of the drunk former nobles here, she didn’t really care about having lost most of her wealth or even the culture of the old Russian nobility.

She came here to pretend like she did, so she could forget for a few minutes that she missed a hell of a lot more than just the riches she’d inherited and lost from her family’s bloodlines.

Tonight, after what Crutchie had said, she _really_ needed to forget.

”This is all that is left of the old Russia!” someone shouted.

”Russia?” Kath snorted, “Only a fool would go back. My father was _very_ sorry he did.”

Kath didn’t particularly care that her father had gotten put in front of a Bolshevik firing squad. He’d tried to pressure her to marry Cowboy, and then later Crutchie. He’d wanted a son and hadn’t cared much about the daughter he got instead.

Of course, all the nobles currently offering their condolences didn’t know that, and she wasn’t about to tell them.

Kath must have been more drunk than she thought she was, because the next thing she knew, everybody was swapping ‘sob‘ stories.

What a joke. These people had lost their wealth and their elitist traditions? Kath had lost five of her closest friends, the woman who raised her as much as them, her lover, her home, and, yes, her parents.

But, she _was_ here to forget her real troubles, so she sat up on the bar, adding a censored version of her story to the mix.

”Once, I had a palace,” she started, “Here, merely a flat. I fled with some diamonds and that was that.”

Someone patted her arm, “It’s very tragic.”

”Once, ladies in waiting, all bending a knee. Now, only one lady in waiting; me.”

”No fanfares!” Some man shouted.

”Or sedan chairs!” A woman lamented.

”And no coaches!”

”And we sold our broaches!”

”No afternoon card games with the queen!”

Kath felt a twinge of pain at that, but shoved any serious thoughts away. She didn’t want to drunk cry today, so she thought about how much she actually _did_ miss caviar.

”But, I say,” she declared, “We’re not dead now!”

”No, we’re in France instead, now!”

”Let us not be sad!” Kath insisted, “The night’s young! And Russians are mad, so, let’s live in the land of yesterday, live in the grand, imperial hey day! Let’s put on the fancy clothes and let’s while our woes away! In Russia, land of yesterday!”

Everyone cheered, and Kath went to sit on a table, talking to a woman who still seemed sad.

”In dire circumstances, why wallow in regret? We’re out of second chances. Why are we here except to forget? We know the world is fickle. Life is a leaky sieve. So, pass me a glass, and give me a bow, and drink to the ‘Countess Nobody,’ now! Why should I care as long as a dare to live?”

”In the land of yesterday!” someone yelled.

”Exactly!” Kath exclaimed, “Let’s run up the bill as if we’re still royalty at play!”

”In Russia!” some man yelled.

”Land of yesterday!” another crowed.

”Let’s brush off the days of old!” Kath shouted, “And let’s hold the world at bay!”

”Here’s to Russia!” Someone yelled, and everyone echoed him.

”Here’s to the land of yesterday!” Kath agreed, taking another shot.

The rest of the night was kind of a blur of alcohol and dancing, and for a short time, Kath actually did manage to forget her troubles.

Then she turned around and found herself face to face with someone she’d _never_ thought she’d see again.


	15. The Countess and the Common (Wo)man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate chapter title for this would be: The Newsbians Chapter™️

Kath very nearly just screamed in Sarah’s face.

God, she’d barely changed. It had been ten years, but in Kath’s eyes, she was still young, beautiful, and...

And she shouldn’t be _physically_ able to be here.

”I thought the Bolsheviks put you in front of a firing squad!”

Sarah shrugged, grinning, “They did. But when the time came, no one could pull the trigger.”

”I can’t imagine why not.”

Kath turned around, heading directly for the door. She was much too drunk to deal with this right now, and wasn’t completely convinced this wasn’t a dream or a vodka-induced hallucination.

She couldn’t decide if she wanted to wake up or not if it was.

”I suppose some people still find me charming,” Sarah said, jogging to keep up, “Wouldn’t you agree, Kitty?”

Kath almost froze up, hearing that name. She hadn’t heard someone call her that in over a decade, because no one ever _had_ , besides Sarah.

”I’m glad you’re not dead,” she admitted, “That’s as far as I’m prepared to go.”

”I’ve missed you, Kitty.”

Kath stopped in the middle of the courtyard, turning around to face her former lover.

”You are _so_ full of shit.”

”Why?” Sarah challenged, “Because I refused to run away and leave my brother for you?”

“Because you’re a conwoman, Saz!” Kath exclaimed, “You always have been and you probably always will be. We could’ve sent for Davey when we got to Paris—it was just that you didn’t want to leave.”

Sarah stopped, staring at her somewhere between annoyed, indignant, and guilty.

Funny. Whenever they’d argued before, way back when, she’d always had an argument. They’d usually come to a stalemate, both equally witty and unable to out-argue the other.

...was Kath just drunk, or was the light from the club really surrounding Sarah in a golden halo?

Nope. Nope. No matter how beautiful she still was, Kath wasn’t going to think like that.

”So, what are you doing in Paris?” she asked, figuring that was an innocent enough question.

“I couldn’t have just wanted to see you?”

”Bullshit. What are you really doing here?”

Sarah shrugged, “It’s a little late for talking business. You want to go get... dinner, or something?”

Kath rolled her eyes, “Same old games, Sarah. I’m just not playing anymore.”

She turned around again to walk away, but Sarah was grabbing her wrist to stop her.

...

Even drunk, Sarah knew damn well that Kath was smarter than her.

In a battle of wits, they were usually pretty evenly matched, but the fact was that Kath had gotten an expensive education and Sarah had learned to read only after Davey taught himself out of stolen books and then taught her.

She’d have to play her cards very carefully, here, to get Kath to forgive her.

“Ever since that first day I saw you at court, I knew I was beneath you.”

Well, that probably wasn’t the most intelligent thing to say, but there was only so much Sarah could think when the streetlamps were making Kath’s red hair look like fire like that.

Kath snorted, “You were right, darling. You were.”

Sarah smiled, remembering that first day they met.

She’d gotten ‘queer’ vibes off Katherine from the start, and fallen for her hopelessly when Kath saw right through her and called her on not really being a noble in under a minute.

That party had just been an attempt to get free food, truthfully, using a stolen dress and a somewhat inconsistent aristocratic accent. And Sarah _had_ gotten free food, but she’d also gotten a hell of a lot more.

She’d met the only person she was ever going to love, and that person—the woman standing in front of her—taught her to make a new life for herself.

”I noticed you across the room,” she recalled, “The most exquisite rose. The tiniest tiara and that haughty little nose. I flirted with you shamelessly.”

”Or so the scandal goes,” Kath muttered, “The countess...”

”And the common woman.”

They’d often talked about finding their story like a fairytale, of a countess and a common woman falling in love.

That might be Sarah’s best chance to earn Kath’s help, even if she couldn’t have her love back.

”We tiptoed off to Peterhof,” she remembered, “To have a royal fling.”

Kath snorted, “My father was oblivious. Counts never know a thing.”

“And all of it was perfect—“

”Till you stole my diamond ring!” Kath accused.

“I’m...” Sarah put her hands up, “I’m sorry?”

Katherine rolled her eyes, “No, you’re not. And... I suppose I forgive you. For _that_. You and Davey had to eat, after all.”

Sarah exhaled a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been sure if Kath would be willing to drop her anger long enough to actually consider her reasoning.

The alcohol was probably helping, with the way Kath was smiling as she stared off into space, “And how my heart beat when you sent me our sign... I loved you.”

Sarah smiled, too, remembering, “You loved me.”

She didn’t know if she should say it back. It had been _ten years_ since they last saw each other.

And besides, Kath was drunk. Sarah was _already_ manipulating her. She was going to feel even shittier about it if she went as far as a love confession.

“Who would have known, my little rose? We’re back where we began.”

Kath laughed, “And I suppose that you’ll propose we run away together? Another sneaky plan?”

Sarah sighed. She fully deserved the suspicion.

She would _really_ like to get back together with Katherine, and running away together didn’t sound bad at all.

But she did have a job to do, here. If they could pass Jack off as Cowboy, maybe she and Davey could stay in Paris, and she could pick up the pieces later.

For now, there was nothing to do but get them in the door.

”There’s nothing better than the countess and the common woman.”

Kath sniggered, “The countess and the _con_ woman.”

Sarah tried not to laugh, but that one got her, too. It was, honestly, a terrible pun, and if it was anyone other than Kath, she wouldn’t laugh at it.

But it _was_ Kath, and Sarah had missed her.

”I’m waiting for you to kiss me,” Kath mumbled under her breath.

Besides the fact that she was drunk, Sarah didn’t want to do that because she didn’t want to get distracted.

”Uh... later. For now, there’s a young man I want to tell you about.”

Katherine looked at her sharply, then looked away, “Oh.”

”No, no, Kitty, nothing like that,” Sarah said quickly, “He’s... there’s no easy way to say this, but I want you to meet him. But more than that... there’s someone who will probably be at the ballet tomorrow who’ll want to meet him, too.”

Kath glared at her, and Sarah gulped.

She’d somehow forgotten how intense the Pulitzer-Plumber glare was, but she _definitely_ remembered now.

”Sarah Jacobs,” Kath grumbled, “I knew you were a thief and a conwoman, but I never thought you’d go this far. Granted, I thought you were dead, so I never thought about the possibility of you trying, but...”

”Kath,” Sarah insisted, “It’s not what you think. This young man... I’m pretty sure he actually _is_ Cowboy.”

That was a lie, but Sarah tried not to think too hard about it. She worked way too hard trying to pretend like people getting hurt in her schemes didn’t bother her.

”Cowboy is _dead_ , Saz.”

The ice in Kath’s voice was startling.

”And you only met him once,” she added, “So even if you _do_ genuinely believe it’s him—which I’m not so sure you do, knowing you—“

”Smart call,” Sarah admitted.

”You wouldn’t be able to recognize him reliably, anyway. And the only time you saw him was over ten years ago! So please, spare my best friend and I the heartache and don’t even try.”

Shit. She was walking away. Sarah had approximately thirty seconds to get her back.

”Do you trust me, Katherine?”

That made Kath stop.

It was a full ten seconds before she responded.

”No.”

”Well... please trust me on this. At least show up to ballet tomorrow and meet him. Kath, I swear to you, if he’s not Cowboy, no one is.”

Katherine sighed, then called over her shoulder, “I’ll meet this young man of yours. But don’t expect me to believe he’s my dead friend.”

With the click of her heels on the cobble stones, she was gone.


	16. In a Crowd of Thousands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready, y’all. :)

Jack laughed as he waltzed around the room, spinning the young girl he was dancing with and wincing as she kept stepping on his toes.

”Okay, that one felt intentional, Smalls.”

Smalls grinned up at him cheekily, “Maybe it was!”

Jack laughed, “Oh, it’s like _that._ ”

He sped up, trying to step on his little sister’s feet, but she just cackled and stepped on his more, her smaller feet moving faster than his.

”Having fun, big brother?”

Jack looked over to see a boy only a little older than Smalls was, smirking as he leaned against the wall.

”Tons,” he responded, “So much, in fact, that I think you deserve a turn.”

Smalls laughed as he spun her out, passing her off to Romeo, who looked slightly panicked.

”No, no, no—“

”Too late,” Jack ruffled his hair, “Have fun with the gremlin, silly.”

He didn’t particularly want to be alone, so, leaving his youngest brother and sister, he went over to where Race and Elmer were not-so-discreetly trying to sneak champagne.

”Getting into trouble, are we?”

”No!”

Jack had to laugh at how they yelped in unison. Those two loved to play at being rebellious, but really didn’t act like any kind of rebellious teenagers if they got caught.

”Please don’t tell Mama,” Elmer pleaded.

”Why would I do that?” Jack asked mischievously, “Then I’d have to tell her about the sip I stole half an hour ago!”

They all dissolved into giggles, trying to keep quiet so as not to attract attention.

”Need a rescue?”

Jack rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to bust them, Buttons.”

Buttons, one of the only other kids their age there, shrugged, “Kind of looked like you were. In that case, want to dance?”

”Uh, yeah!” Elmer said immediately, letting himself get pulled onto the dance floor.

Jack raised an eyebrow, noticing his little brother’s blush as the two started messing around, not quite graceful in their ‘dancing,’ but just holding hands and spinning around, having fun.

Race noticed the look on his face and smirked, “I’m going to go find Spot.”

“You’re just doing that to mess with me, aren’t you?”

Race turned around from walking away, still smirking as he walked backwards down the hallway.

”I might be!”

Jack rolled his eyes. God knew what Racer saw in that boy. At least Buttons wasn’t a stoic, stick-in-the-mud loner.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing the smiles he put on his little brother’s face, though.

”So, who was sneaking champagne tonight?”

Jack feigned innocence as he turned around, “Nobody, Mama.”

”I _know_ it wasn’t you, Cowboy.”

He didn’t know why, but that made Jack’s smile falter.

Cowboy.

That name.

What was it about that name?

Jack realized that he didn’t know any of these people. Their names were already fading from his mind, their faces melting into indistinct shadows. Silhouettes. They were all familiar—why were they so familiar?—but drifting away.

”Who are you?” Jack asked shakily, realizing that he didn’t know this woman, either.

Her kind smile turned concerned, and suddenly, Jack was sitting with her on a windowsill somewhere, and she brushed a section of hair out of his face in an almost... _motherly_ way.

“Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?”

Jack shook his head as she felt his forehead for fever, realizing where he recognized her from.

”Every night you come. You and the others. Who are you?”

”We’ll continue to come every night,” she said, sounding kind of sad, “Until you remember us.”

Then suddenly, it wasn’t her sitting across from Jack anymore.

It was that blond boy, the middle child from before. What was his name again..?

Racetrack. Race. That was his name.

”Do you have a secret?” he asked, his tone playful, as if they were two brothers gossiping about who they had a crush on.

”I don’t know who I am,” Jack gasped out. He was starting to panic, hyperventilating. This all felt wrong and right at the same time and he didn’t know what to do with that feeling and—

And Race laughed, and the sound was familiar. Jack found himself punching him in the shoulder, as if he’d just been teased about something vaguely embarrassing.

”That’s silly,” Race laughed, “Everybody knows who they are.”

Jack started to say that he didn’t, but his little brother was already continuing.

”Can _I_ tell _you_ a secret?”

Instinct took over, and Jack nodded, leaning a little closer to the younger boy.

”Of course, anything.”

Race grinned and leaned in closer, sing-songing in Jack’s ear.

”I’m going to die soon.”

Jack pulled away from him out of shock.

”What?”

Race’s expression had gone sad. Maybe a little confused, too.

”We all are.”

There was a flash of blood and gunshots and screams of his name, and—

And Jack was falling out of bed, trying too late to silence a yelp as he landed on the floor.

“No,” he whispered under his breath as the faces faded from his mind again, “No, no, no, no, no.”

But they didn’t fade all the way this time.

Jack could still see them, and they were _terrified_.

”Jack?”

He looked up to see Davey in the doorway, his hair messed up like he’d just woken up.

Probably by Jack’s scream, he realized, but he was too freaked out to care.

”They’re dead,” Jack rambled shakily, “I was the oldest and I was supposed to protect them and I—“

”Shh, it’s okay, Jack, _breathe_.”

He didn’t remember seeing Davey crossing the room, but arms were around him, getting him up to sit on the bed.

”It was just a nightmare.”

Jack shook his head violently, “No, it _wasn't_. They were right _there_. They were right there in front of me and I didn’t save them and I should’ve been stronger and smarter than I was! I should’ve saved them but I didn’t because I was too damn _stupid_ and _weak_ and—“

”Hey,” Davey interrupted, “No. Are you listening to me? Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re one of the strongest and smartest people I know, Jack. You are by _no_ means weak or stupid.”

Jack then became very aware of how close they were sitting.

Davey seemed to become aware of it, too, and he scooted away at the same time as Jack did.

”I was wondering if you were ever going to pay me a real compliment.”

Davey smiled, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jack debated asking what he really wanted to ask.

On the one hand, he was terrified of the potential answer.

On the other... he had to know.

”Do you think I’m really him? Cowboy?”

Jack was too scared to look over, but he heard Davey sigh.

”I want to believe you’re the boy I saw that day so long ago.”

”What?”

Davey didn’t answer.

”You _asshole_!” Jack slapped him in the shoulder, “You can’t just tell me that you _saw_ Cowboy and then turn around and not tell me the story!”

They both were laughing a little by the end of that.

”It was a _long_ time ago,” Davey said, “I barely remember.”

His tone said that he remembered every moment, but didn’t want to talk about it.

Jack stared at him pointedly until he chuckled.

”Um...” Davey looked at the ceiling, thinking, “It was June. I was ten. I still think of that day, now and then.”

When he didn’t continue, Jack prompted him.

”Go on.”

”A parade,” Davey recalled, “And a boy. And a crowd of thousands.”

This time, the pause was him thinking of the right words.

”He sat straight as a king. Just my age, but so proud and serene. How they cheered, how I stared... in that crowd of thousands.”

”You stared, huh?” Jack teased.

Davey elbowed him, then continued, anyway, “Then I started to run and to call out his name as the crowd on the road went wild. I reached out with my hand and looked up... and then he _smiled_.”

He finally looked at Jack, and for some reason...

There was a shock of recognition at the way Davey was looking at him. He didn’t know what it was, but... he’d seen Davey look at him like that before.

”The parade travelled on,” he finished, “With the sun in my eyes, he was gone. But if I were still ten... I’d find him again.”

Jack half wanted to tease.

”You’re making me feel I was there, too,” he said instead.

Davey shrugged, “Maybe you were. Make it part of your story.”

Jack laughed, then realized that he was serious.

Ah, what the hell? At least this was one part of his story he wouldn’t have to piece together from fragments of memories and secondhand accounts.

”A parade,” he started.

”A parade,” Davey agreed, nodding.

”Passing by.”

“Passing by.”

”It was hot, not a cloud in the sky.”

Davey nodded again, encouraging him.

”Then a boy caught my eye, in a crowd of thousands.”

Davey was smirking, so Jack shoved him.

”Well, don’t stop now!”

”He was thin,” Jack said pointedly, “Not too clean.”

Davey scoffed and looked like he wanted to argue, but Jack was already continuing on.

”There were guards, but he dodged in between. Yes, he made himself seen... in that crowd of thousands.”

...wait a second.

No way.

Jack stood up, the images flowing through his mind as he kept talking, “Then he called out my name, and he started to run through the sun, and the heat, and the crowd. And I tried not to smile, but I smiled... and then...”

“Jack?”

There was an edge to Davey’s voice, but Jack couldn’t help but say what he’d just recalled.

”He _bowed_.”

“I didn’t tell you that,” Davey said, his voice guarded.

”You didn’t have to,” Jack gasped, turning to face him, “I _remember.”_

Puzzle pieces came flooding back. Little fragments of Jack’s past, of his family, of his friends, all rushing into place like they never left.

It wasn’t a complete picture yet, but it was more than he’d _ever_ expected to get.

Jack watched the change in Davey’s face as he realized what that meant.

”The parade travelled on,” he said tentatively, “With the sun in my eyes...”

” _You_ were gone,” Davey gasped, standing up and grabbing Jack’s hands, “But I _knew_ , even then.”

Jack nodded in understanding, “I knew, even then, in a crowd of thousands... I’d find you again.“

Davey laughed breathlessly, leaning in closer, and Jack’s mind went through about ten stages of shock realizing that Davey Jacobs was about to kiss him. Not that he was complaining, but...

But he _didn’t_.

Instead, he backed up a couple steps and dropped to one knee.

”Your Highness.”

That title made a shiver run up Jack’s spine.

Cowboy’s spine.

Jack _was_ Cowboy.

He was the prince.


	17. Meant to Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter ahead! Let’s go!

They were _late_.

Sarah couldn’t believe this. God, if there was one day to be on time, it was today. The ballet was starting in _maybe_ fifteen minutes, and Jack and Davey weren’t there yet.

Crutchie and Kath were already inside, and Sarah was still waiting for her brother and their Cowboy.

“I cannot _believe_ you talked me into this.”

She jumped, not having realizing Katherine was behind her.

After weeks of sneaking up on Davey and Jack, she guessed she deserved it.

”In your defense, you were drunk,” she pointed out.

”I was a bit tipsy,” Kath admitted, “I still wouldn’t have said yes if it wasn’t you asking.”

That... Sarah wasn’t really sure what she was implying, but she knew she couldn’t let it go.

”Are we going to try again?” she asked quietly.

Katherine was silent for a second, then shrugged, “I’m... willing to give you a second chance. But don’t expect me to give you a third if you steal from me again. Next time you’re desperate enough to need to, just _ask_ me for help.”

”Oddly enough, I don’t plan to get that desperate again.”

That made Kath smile, but it faded quickly.

”I might be willing to give this young man a chance, too, but you shouldn’t expect Crutchie to. He’s... I think he’s given up.”

”We’ll change his mind,” Sarah said, hoping she sounded more confident than she was.

Kath looked doubtful as she headed back inside, “Whatever you say.”

Davey ran up not ten seconds later, damn near giving Sarah a heart attack.

”Where have you been?” she hissed, slapping him in the arm, “Where’s Jack?”

”He’s coming,” Davey assured her, “We found out the hard way that he can’t run in those pants. He’s moving as fast as he can.”

”Oh, of course. How convenient.”

”Saz,” he said, his voice urgent, “I need to tell you some—“

“Sorry I’m late!”

Sarah wanted to laugh at Jack speed-walking up, but she stopped, seeing the way Davey was looking at him.

How he nodded almost... respectfully.

“It’s okay,” Sarah said, “I can’t run in this dress, either. Davey, you said you had to tell me—“

”Later,” he said pointedly, “Later. Come on, Jack.”

Jack looked a little confused, but took his arm and let Davey lead him inside without hesitation.

They were leaning their heads close together, talking quietly, both smiling.

Oh, no.

This was what Sarah had been afraid of.

”What’s meant to be is meant to be,” she said to herself, “I see it at a glance. He is radiant, and confident, and born to take this chance.”

Jack looked as if he _was_ Cowboy. That was plain to see. Sarah wasn’t quite sure _what_ had changed in him, but he suddenly, he wasn’t a street boy pretending to be a prince.

Suddenly, he _was_ a prince.

There was no way Crutchie wouldn’t accept him. He would get right where he was meant to be.

But right now, he looked like he was meant to be nowhere but right by her brother’s side.

”I tried to think of everything. I just forgot... romance.”

She’d known Davey liked boys, and while she _didn’t_ , she wasn’t blind. Jack was _very_ attractive, and that wasn’t even taking into account how he was incredibly kind and brave.

How could Davey _not_ fall for him?

This—having to separate—would break both of their hearts.

Besides the fact that she didn’t want to see that for Davey, as her brother, Sarah really didn’t want to see Jack get hurt, because he was her friend.

Even if they weren’t thinking about it right now, they would both be hurt before this night was through.

”I never should have let them dance.”


	18. Quartet at the Ballet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 perspectives! Whoo! This is gonna be hard to write and make it make sense!

The ballet was beautiful, and Jack really wished he could focus on it.

He still didn’t remember everything. There were huge puzzle pieces missing from his life, but at least he had an outline now.

He knew that he loved his Mama and his brothers and sister, and one of them was sitting just across the theatre from him. Jack could _see_ him.

God, he was _so_ close to home. Crutchie was right there, and it would only be a few hours before Jack was talking to him again.

_Can this be the evening? Can this be the place? Am I only dreaming, looking at his face?_

Everything he wanted was suddenly so clear. Jack’s past and his future were so near.

...

Davey was very aware of Jack’s hand in his, squeezing tightly out of nervousness. Crutchie was visible from where they were, sitting with Katherine across the theatre.

They were so close.

So why did Davey feel so sick to his stomach?

_If Crutchie accepts him as Cowboy, you will never see him again._

That sentence kept replaying again and again on repeat, ever since Davey found out that Jack _was_ Cowboy.

He was Davey’s childhood crush, which was... odd to think about.

But besides that, that meant that his _brother_ was across the theatre from them.

Jack deserved to find his family.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell to think of never seeing him again.

Next to him, Jack’s face was just that of a frightened boy, holding tight to Davey’s hand as the dancers whirled.

_Keep your nerve and see this through_.

It was what he’d come to do.

...

Crutchie had seen Swan Lake before, so he wasn’t paying super close attention. It was a bit boring at this point, so he let his eyes wander over to the audience, wanting to know if Count Delancey was here and him and Kath were going to have to make a run for it to avoid him.

He froze, seeing someone across the theatre.

A young man, with dark hair and hazel eyes and _very_ familiar facial features.

_See that man, could it be..?_

No. Crutchie had to stop being ridiculous. He needed to train himself to really believe that his big brother was dead.

_I refuse to dream. I refuse to hope. I must stop believing I will ever find him._

...

Jack was near at hand, and yet Spot was still standing still, his mind and heart at war.

The times had to change.

The world had to change.

But that man looked _so_ much like Race’s brother, and that hurt because Spot had to kill him.

He would have to find a way to steel himself.

_Love is not what revolution’s for._

...

Someone would hold Jack safe and warm. Someone would shelter him from the storm. It wouldn’t be Davey, but someone would keep him safe, once he was home with his brother. Home, love, family... he would have all of it. And Davey would do his best to help.

...

Why did it have to be Spot who had to kill Jack? He didn’t want to, but he had a job to do. Orders were simple things, and one thing was clear. It was fate that brought him here, and he would do whatever he had to.

...

Sneaking glances at Crutchie’s face across the theatre, Jack got flashes of the room they’d shared when they were little. Painted wings, silver snow outside the window, whirling like a ballet.

...

Crutchie kept sneaking glances at that man across the theatre. He kept zeroing in on how he looked so much like someone he used to know. Someone he was still yearning to see, because he still wanted it to be him, despite himself.

...

Jack still didn’t remember everything.

But he would find a way to be Cowboy, anyway.


	19. Everything to Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be 50% Jack and 50% Davey but 100% *jazz hands* anxiety!!!

Jack took a deep breath, stopping before going around the corner.

Sarah was arguing in hushed tones with someone who he assumed was Katherine Plumber-Pulitzer.

He remembered her, a bit. That witty, funny friend of his who was always down to pull some mischief or help keep his younger siblings out of trouble at a party.

He didn’t remember if they’d ever been a _thing_ , but he did remember that Katherine had been around enough when they were growing up that Queen Medda had raised her practically as much as him.

”Hey,” Davey said, noticing his hesitation, “You’ve got this. It’s just a talk with your brother.”

He said it like it was simple. Like it was easy.

Like it hadn’t been _ten years_ , and...

”What if I’m not him?” Jack asked quietly, “What if I’ve just made up ideas in my head because of the details you and Sarah told me, and—“

”You knew how I reacted to seeing you smile at me,” Davey reminded him, “You couldn’t have known that unless you were there.”

“Good point,” Jack admitted.

Was he supposed to think of himself as Cowboy, now? When he didn’t even fully remember why his siblings used to call him that?

He shrugged, “I’m just... scared.”

“That’s natural,” Davey admitted, “That makes sense. But he’s going to recognize you. It’ll be okay.”

Jack nodded, “Thanks, Davey.”

He hesitated for a second, then hugged him.

Jack wasn’t stupid. If Crutchie recognized him, they’d probably never see each other again.

He didn’t have the emotional capacity to process that right now, but... he was pretty sure he would miss Davey Jacobs.

“You’ll be fine,” Davey insisted as they pulled apart.

”Yeah,” Jack said, trying to believe it.

Katherine stopped short, not finishing whatever she was about to say to Sarah when she saw him.

”Well?” Sarah asked, not as smugly as Jack was expecting.

“This way, Your Highness,” she said, sounding kind of choked.

She lead Jack down a hall, towards what he assumed was Crutchie’s box.

He was about to see his brother for the first time in ten years.

Jack was struggling not to panic.

”Where have you been?” Katherine asked tightly, stopping in the middle of the hall.

She was testing him, herself, first. Jack tried to breathe.

”I ended up at the hospital in Perm,” he said truthfully, “It took me some time to get to Petersburg, but I’ve been trying to get to Paris since I got there.”

She still looked doubtful, “It’s been ten years, Cowboy. You never tried to write to us?”

That was startling.

”You believe I’m Cowboy?”

Katherine shrugged, “You look... _exactly_ like an older version of him should. I believed you were dead for so long, but... I want to believe that you’re my friend.”

She was waiting for him to prove it.

Jack tried to think back on the memories he had with Katherine in them.

”I used to tease you about that girl of yours,” he recalled, “And I didn’t know her at the time, but that was Sarah. I made a lot of very... _immature_ jokes about it, but I could tell you genuinely loved her.”

“I told those jokes to Sarah. Tell me something she _couldn’t_ have told you.”

Jack tried to think, looking at his shoes as he struggled to look back through his memories.

”Elmer tried teasing you, too, once, but I stopped him, because... because he couldn’t be a hypocrite like that when he had a huge crush on Buttons Davenport.”

It hit Jack like a punch in the stomach when he realized.

Buttons Davenport. _Benjamin_ Davenport. Oh, God.

”What is it?”

”He’s dead,” Jack whispered, “Buttons is dead. He got shot on the train we took out of Russia.”

Katherine’s hand went over her mouth in shock and grief, “That poor boy.”

_Right_. Jack didn’t have any memories yet with both of them, but she would have known him, too. He was probably her friend as well as Jack’s.

Another dead friend.

”I have amnesia.”

Jack didn’t know why he confessed that, but he felt like Kath should know.

”What?”

”I woke up in that hospital, and I didn’t remember _anything_. All I had was a voice telling me to meet someone in Paris, and... and I’ve been remembering more and more, but there’s still a lot missing. Pieces of my life I just _don’t_ have.”

”That’s why you didn’t come sooner,” Kath realized, “You didn’t remember.”

It... _sounded_ like she believed him, but Jack wasn’t completely sure.

“I remember _you_ ,” he offered, “Or... parts of our friendship.”

Then he laughed aloud, remembering something else.

”We tried to be together like your father wanted when we were fourteen, but that didn’t work. Especially after I kissed you under the mistletoe at Christmas and you punched me in the face. My siblings wouldn’t stop teasing me about it for _months_.”

Katherine gasped.

”Your father wanted a son,” he continued, “But your mother nearly died with you, so they couldn’t try for another child. They resented you for it, so you spent most of your time with us. You slept over more nights than you didn’t, as we got older. One time—I think we were fifteen or sixteen—I snuck into your room to try to prank you, but I found you crying. I hugged you, and—“

That was when Kath hugged him, and Jack hugged her back, memories involving her coming back faster and faster.

”You told me I was like a second sister to you,” she said shakily, “And it was as good as official since none of you were related by blood, anyway.”

”Are you crying?” Jack asked incredulously as he pulled back and saw tears in Kath’s eyes. To his memory, he’d only seen her cry a couple of times.

”No!” Kath exclaimed, wiping her eyes, “Cowboy, I... it’s _so_ good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Jack agreed.

”I missed you.”

”I did not miss you because I didn’t remember you existed.”

Kath’s laugh was halfway between that and a sob, “Oh, you’re _definitely_ Cowboy, alright.”

Jack wiped the tears off her face, the movement familiar.

He had a feeling he’d done that before, and not just for her.

”Come on,” she said, “Let’s go tell your brother the good news

Jack took a deep breath, following her down the hallway.

...

”What’s taking so long?” Davey muttered, pacing the lobby of the theatre.

“It’s a good thing,” Sarah said in a tired tone, “If he came out after five seconds, it would mean he was rejected.”

Davey kept pacing, anyway. He didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous.

”What are they saying?” he muttered under his breath, “Wonder how long they’ll be. Why should I worry? Worrying’s not like me.”

“Davey...”

Now Sarah looked sad for some reason. Davey decided not to listen to her.

”Nothing to do but pace and stew and wait till the boy walks in... why panic now, with everything to win?”

”If you’re going to have a freak out, I’m waiting outside,” she grumbled. Davey didn’t care.

He just stole her seat as she left the room.

”Nothing but silence. This could be bad. No,” he remembered what Sarah had said, “Let’s assume it’s good. Thought it was foolproof—nothing is foolproof. Whoa! Better knock on wood.”

Knocking on the side of his chair oddly didn’t make him feel any better.

”Prince gets a family,” he muttered, “Conman gets rich. And fairytale gets a spin. How can we fail, with everything to win?“

Davey was too full of nervous energy to sit still, and he ended up pacing more.

”I wonder if our paths will ever cross again. The way they did when we were just children of ten... we said this was goodbye, but even so... you never know.”

You never knew until it happened.

“I should be glad,” Davey whispered to himself, “That we’re breaking free. But nothing is what it was.”

For better or for worse, Jack had changed him.

Davey... did Davey love him?

”I didn’t know he mattered to me... but now I can see he does.”

That made him smile with a bittersweet kind of happiness.

”Conman and prince both get their wish, fairytale comes true.”

Their story really was like a fairytale, wasn’t it?

”Funny, the one small part I never knew... with everything to win... the only thing I lose is... you.”

He stopped when Jack walked in.

”Jack?”

Something was wrong.

The other man’s eyes were full of tears.

”What hap—“

”He wouldn’t even _look_ at me,” Jack said sharply, “He said, ‘Kath, tell this imposter I know his kind all too well. He wants money and he’s willing to break a crippled orphan’s heart to get it.’”

”But—“

”I was a lot of things before I met you, Davey Jacobs,” Jack hissed, getting right up in his face.

Even back when they pissed each other off, Davey had never seen anger like this in his eyes.

”I wasn’t proud of all of them,” he admitted, “But before this, I _wasn’t_ was dishonest. I _hate_ you for that.”

“Jack—“

Davey gave up. Jack was already gone.

He knew Sarah would follow him, make sure he got back to the hotel alright.

After that... Jack would probably grab his stuff.

And then they would never see him again.

”I’m sorry.”

Katherine _did_ actually look like she was sorry.

”You _know_ he’s—“

”Of course I do,” Katherine interrupted, “He knew things no one who _wasn’t_ Cowboy could possibly know. I’ll talk to Crutchie. Don’t worry.”

”By then, it’ll be too late. I _know_ him. He’s going to—“

Davey cut off, realizing that someone else was coming out of the hallway behind Katherine.

“Your Majesty.”

More out of instinct than anything, he bowed.

”You need to give him another chance. He’s—“

”He’s just another young man who wants money and is willing to do whatever it takes,” Crutchie Larkin interrupted.

” _I_ was the one who wanted money,” Davey corrected, “He had nothing to do with it. It was all _me_.”

”Then he’s a mentally-ill pawn. Either way, he’s not my brother, so it doesn’t matter. I’d say ‘have a good night,‘ but I don’t actually care.”

Davey got in front of him to stop him from walking away, “He doesn’t want anything except what is rightfully his.”

Crutchie scoffed, “And what’s that?”

“Your love,” Davey said firmly, “A home with what’s left of his family. Just try to imagine what life has been like for him since his mother, sister, and four of his brothers were murdered in cold—“

”I don’t need reminding what happened to my family!”

Davey was actually stunned to silence by the amount of venom in his voice.

”I was _there_ ,” Crutchie growled in his face, “I _heard_ their screams. Do you know what it’s like to tell your little sister that everything will be okay and _know_ you’re lying to her? I do. I spent the last ten years _dreaming_ that one of my siblings might still be alive. I’ve been _alone.”_

“So has he,” Davey interrupted, “He’s been alone, too, stuck hundreds of kilometers from his only living—“

That was when Crutchie slapped him in the face.

”My big brother is dead,” he hissed, “Stop acting like he isn’t.”

“Look, be mad at _me_ ,” Davey said desperately, “Call the cops on me, for all I care. Just give this man a chance, because _all_ he wants is a family. Please.”

”I don’t owe anything to a conman trying to pass some random person off as my brother.”

Davey sighed, knowing he was beat.

Looked like he and Jack _both_ lost on this one.

And despite the fact that he was mostly angry at himself for this, because it was _his_ fault, Davey was still angry at Crutchie, too, for giving up hope.

”God will judge you harshly, Your Majesty,” he said tightly, “History already has.”

With that, Davey walked away.

He knew that Jack would never forgive him.

But he needed to get to him before he left and apologize, anyway.


	20. Once Upon a December (reprise)

Davey was hurt _and_ Jack was hurt and Sarah regretted everything.

She guessed romance wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t taken into account.

She’d only met Crutchie a few times, and though they’d only been loose acquaintances at best, she hadn’t thought he would be the type to give up and dismiss Jack without looking at him.

Then again, the last time she’d seen him was over ten years ago. He’d been a happy, innocent fifteen-year-old with a living mother and five living siblings.

He was a different person now. And by not knowing that, Davey and Sarah had set Jack up for failure.

It made sense why he was so heartbroken, but Sarah was still a little confused about Davey.

He seemed... desperate. And yes, guilty, too, but more than that, frustrated.

Almost like he genuinely believed Jack was Cowboy.

Jack was packing. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a little while, so Sarah pulled her brother aside to ask what the hell she was missing, here.

”He _is_ Cowboy.”

Well, that wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

“How the hell—“

”I don’t _know_ how he survived,” Davey admitted, “But it’s _him_ , Saz. I know because I told him part of that day with the parade and he finished the story with details he _couldn’t_ have known.”

Sarah remembered that parade. Of course she did. Besides the fact that it was the biggest and easiest pickpocketing score they’d ever done, it was the day she’d seen, plain and simple, no matter how much he denied it, that her brother had developed a huge crush on the Cowboy prince.

She hadn’t known the details, but it had been obvious. It had unfocused him enough that he almost got caught even _with_ everyone so distracted by the parade.

If Jack knew details that even Sarah didn’t...

”You mean to tell me that out of all the young men we could’ve pulled off the streets of Petersburg, we picked up the _actual_ Cowboy?”

”I know how crazy it sounds,” Davey admitted, “But it’s _him_ , Sarah. Katherine knows it, too. But Jack doesn’t, because he thinks the memories coming back to him are just his imagination mixed with what _we_ told him.”

”Oh, shit... and now he won’t believe a thing we say to him.”

”Damn right, I won’t,” Jack said, having come over to grab something and heard the tail end of their conversation, “You should _both_ be ashamed of yourselves.”

Sarah didn’t say that they _were_. She knew he wouldn’t believe that out of them, either.

Then Katherine rounded the corner in the hallway, followed by someone Sarah _definitely_ wasn’t expecting.

...

“You know, everyone told me you were two of the biggest pieces of shit in Russia,” Jack admitted, “I _wish_ I’d listened. That government thug was _right_ about you. You’re lying, manipulative, terrible—“

Jack turned around and promptly wanted to die, seeing who was behind him.

He bowed immediately, but still felt terrible.

”It seems like history wants us to play this game to the end,” Crutchie said simply, “Stand up.”

Jack did, though he was still nervous.

He took a deep breath.

He wasn’t sure if he was really who this young man was looking for, but this was his _one_ chance.

Something inside of him knew that what was left of his family was right there in front of him.

Something inside of Jack recognized and loved Crutchie as his brother.

Now all he needed to do was hold onto him and they could both finally have something resembling a home.

Crutchie didn’t seem to have the same thought, just scowling at him from across the room.

“Who are you?”

Jack wished he’d asked literally _any_ other question.

“I might be who you’re looking for,” he answered after an awkward amount of silence.

Crutchie scoffed, sitting on a bench near the door, “Cryptic answer. _Very_ unlike my brother. You’re not doing very well, here.”

“You used to steal chocolate out of the kitchens,” Jack blurted, not knowing where it was coming from, “The cook probably knew, in hindsight, but we used to sneak down there and make a big deal out of getting as much as we could.”

He laughed, memories of that coming back, “You always used to complain that it wasn’t fair. I could carry more than you using both arms, but I think we were both surprised when Elmer got more than _both_ of us once.”

Crutchie looked a bit uncertain, but he schooled his expression as Jack sat down next to him.

”Sneaking into the kitchen for chocolate is a common enough thing for children to do,” he said coldly, “And it’s common knowledge that Elmer was the strongest besides Cowboy himself. Lucky guess.”

”Okay,” Jack reasoned, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

He waited for Crutchie to ask a question, but he didn’t. Instead, he just stared at his face, studying him, and Jack found himself trying not to squirm.

”You definitely _look_ a lot like my brother,” he admitted, “But I’ve learned not to trust my eyes. What was our mother’s full title as queen?”

Crap. Jack didn’t remember that one.

“Her Majesty..?”

Crutchie smirked, having finally tripped him up, ”Her Imperial Majesty, Empress of all—“

”Why don’t you want me to be him?”

Jack didn’t know _why_ the question came out, but the second it did he knew he had _needed_ to ask it.

He could read it plain as day. Crutchie didn’t want it to be him.

”Try to imagine,” the younger man said sarcastically, “You’re fifteen years old and in the space of one night, you lose your entire family. You hear rumors that one of them might still be alive, and being a lost, lonely child, you believe them, and you try to find him. But all that comes is imposter after imposter, and you have to look at all these boys, then all these men, who look so much like your brother but _aren’t_ him.”

He wasn’t sarcastic anymore by the end of that. In fact, he seemed almost... close to tears.

”And then it’s been ten years. You’ve been _alone_ for ten years. You love your best friend, but she’s not your little sister or any of your little brothers. And... and most of all, she’s not the boy who gave you a home _twice_. Once because he refused to let you starve in an alleyway even when he would’ve survived easier if he did, and then again when he refused an invitation to go live with _the queen_ unless she would take me, too.”

At that point, Crutchie seemed to realize that he’d basically spilled his life story to Jack, and his face hardened, though his eyes still held unshed tears.

”Cowboy was all I had for _years_ ,” he said forcefully, “He sacrificed _everything_ for me, and then later for our siblings. He stayed up more nights than he slept helping one of us through nightmares. You can see why I won’t settle for a fake.”

”How do you know I’m a fake?” Jack asked quietly.

Crutchie groaned under his breath.

The sound was all frustration, but his face betrayed nothing but grief.

”Because you have to be!” he exclaimed, “Otherwise it’s not fair! I waited for _so long_ , and I held onto hope through _everything_ , held _myself_ together through nightmares, all the while dreaming that my big brother was coming for me, and that I’d finally give _him_ a home for a change when he did, but—“

Jack instinctively put an arm around him.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Crutchie shoved him off in anger.

”But he would _hate_ this,” he finished, practically spitting out the words, “Being the last two standing. And I knew that, right from the start. I should have known that if the soldiers didn’t kill him, grief would.”

Maybe Jack was just slow, but he still didn’t get it.

“What does that have to do with it not being fair?”

”It has to do because...” Crutchie made a sound that Jack realized a couple seconds too late was a sob, “Because you can’t just show up now! Not _right_ as I was _finally_ starting to make peace with your death! You can’t be alive, you asshole!”

Jack felt the need to dodge a punch, but one didn’t come.

”I just want this nightmare to be over.”

He knew what to say.

Jack didn’t know how he knew, but he suddenly knew exactly what to he had to do.

His brother had always had ghosts, and they were both plagued by even more now, but he still knew what they used to do to fight each other’s monsters.

That was... that was why they’d had nicknames. Because ‘Charlie Morris’ and ‘Francis Sullivan’ had no good memories attached to them.

Neither did ‘Liana,’ ‘Nico,’ or ‘Anthony.’ They all carried memories of dead or terrible parents, of cold nights on the street and a society who ignored them. So, they’d come up with new names that didn’t have those bad memories attached. All of them except Elmer, ever the optimist.

They’d come up with nicknames for a couple of their friends who felt the sting of their real names, too. Buttons, who’s parents never had time for him unless they needed someone to handle official duties they didn’t feel like doing. Spot, who’s mother died when he was young and who would never be good enough in his father’s eyes.

Cowboy. He’d been called that because of his affinity for horses and later for reading American westerns.

”Do you remember what I used to do when you had nightmares?” Jack asked quietly, “It was different from what I did for the others, because you were always different. It was you and me against the world from the beginning, and we got creative with how we survived it. And then when we didn’t have to _survive_ anymore... I would climb into your bed and hug you until you stopped shaking. Then I’d sing a special song that never failed to calm either of us down... you gave me a music box with that song in it for my tenth birthday.”

Crutchie froze as Jack pulled the music box out of the bag at his feet.

”I believe this was it.”

He opened the music box, and Crutchie stared like he couldn’t believe it.

Hell, Jack barely could.

”Far away,” he sang along with the melody, “Long ago, glowing dim as an ember...”

”Things my heart used to know...” Crutchie sang shakily, staring at Jack’s face in complete and total disbelief.

They finished the lullaby they’d created together, ”Once upon a December.”

“Cowboy.”

Jack hugged his brother with all his strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hate me for this? Let me know by leaving a comment!


	21. Everything to Win (Reprise)

Crutchie was still having a hard time believing that Cowboy was really home.

Well, Jack, now. He still preferred being called that, and Crutchie wasn’t picky. He was just happy to have him.

He didn’t remember everything.

That was... unexpected, but it did explain where he’d been for the last ten years.

What was important was that what he did remember was enough to verify without a doubt that he was who he said he was.

He remembered random details _no one_ else could have known. From Romeo’s favorite color to Race’s favorite times to sneak out and meet Spot, thinking the oldest two didn’t know about it.

But he didn’t remember Small’s birthday.

He didn’t remember the time they filled Elmer’s bed with wet leaves as a prank.

He didn’t remember how Crutchie had ended up with the crutch.

But that was alright. Crutchie would rather have his big brother back a little jumbled up in the head than not have him back at all.

And... and it was probably a good thing, how he didn’t remember that terrible night.

Jack only remembered flashes. Parts of that night. And that was good. Crutchie sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him a story _he_ wished he could forget.

That night was a weight Jack wasn’t carrying and Crutchie was glad he didn’t have to.

But he didn’t miss how sad he seemed, anyway.

And he was pretty sure he knew the reason.

He remembered watching Race fall headfirst, in the only way a fourteen-year-old knew how, for Spot, and he remembered watching Elmer constantly sneak glances at Buttons when he wasn’t looking, always too shy to say anything.

As they’d gotten older, Romeo, of course, had started flirting with _literally_ everyone, and Crutchie had noticed little Smalls’s eyes lingering on some young Count’s daughter about her age once, though she’d never gotten a chance to act on anything. Even Crutchie himself had flirted a bit with a few girls in his teen years, and maybe a boy, too, once or twice.

Cowboy had always been somewhat preoccupied with the rest of them, and Crutchie had never seen him flirt with _anyone_ and mean it.

Sure, he _had_ flirted, but Crutchie could tell that he didn’t actually care whether he got a response or not. It was just in good fun for him. He was too occupied keeping his siblings out of trouble and training to live up to being their mama’s heir to actually _commit_ to anything.

The most he’d ever allowed himself was that brief thing with Katherine when they were fourteen and Crutchie was thirteen, but that didn’t count because neither of them had ever really liked each other that way.

Kath could tell Jack was sad, too. Crutchie could see it in her eyes.

And not being an idiot, she probably knew why.

That was probably why she’d told him that morning that Davey Jacobs was leaving on a train to Amsterdam this afternoon. He was planning to write to his sister, who was staying in Paris to try again with Kath, but he wasn’t planning on coming back, _ever_.

Jack, Cowboy... whatever you called him, Crutchie had spent enough time lonely to recognize someone missing someone important to them.

”You can’t seriously be thinking of handing over the Larkin fortune to this imposter!”

_Of course_ Count Delancey had to burst in and distract from Crutchie thinking about things that actually mattered and had relevance to literally anything important.

Luckily, Jack seemed to have it under control.

”You’re Count Delancey,” he recalled, “The one with the thug voice and the vodka breath! No wonder Race laughed at you behind your back.”

”Oh, we all did,” Crutchie added, “We had a competition once to see who could imitate that stupid voice best. I think we were all surprised when Mama won.”

If Crutchie had known that was the way to get rid of Count Delancey before today, he would have used it a million times before.

”Did we really do that?” Jack asked quizzically, “Have an impression competition about Count Delancey?”

”No,” Crutchie admitted, “Race _did_ actually have an impression, but the rest of us just laughed at him.”

Jack laughed, but it ended before it should have with a kind of stubborn sadness that wouldn’t go away.

He was definitely missing someone, and it didn’t take a lot of brain power to realize who it was.

_Sarah_ Jacobs laughed, “Everybody did, Your Majesty!”

“I remember _you_.”

Crutchie hadn’t really gotten an opportunity to talk to her yet. Like Kath, he’d thought she was killed years ago.

Back when they were acquaintances, he’d thought that Sarah was fun, but also didn’t really appreciate the way she obviously didn’t tell Kath everything. Sure, it was a survival tactic learned from years on the streets, but that didn’t make it right.

Plus, it was fun to mess with the women a little bit, just making a neutral face and showing Jack how much influence it could have.

”Yeah,” Sarah said awkwardly, “Thank you, Your Majesty. Oh, look at the time. Goodbye.”

She awkwardly left the room.

“I don’t like her,” he told Kath, which was only about half true.

”She’s not so...”

Kath seemed to change her mind, trailing off mid-sentence and completely switching sides.

”Oh, yeah, you’re right, she’s a terrible person.”

_But you like her, anyway._

Crutchie didn’t say that out loud, and Kath just awkwardly left in the same direction Sarah did.

As soon as he judged she’d be out of earshot, he broke character and winked at Jack.

”Get used to people agreeing with everything you say.”

”I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” Jack admitted.

There was that sadness again.

Crutchie took a deep breath, knowing what he had to do.

He would not condemn his brother to a life spent missing someone he didn’t have to miss. He loved him too much to do that to him.

”So, where’s your young man—David?”

Just because he knew what he had to do didn’t mean he had to take a direct route about doing it.

”He’s not mine,” Jack mumbled, “I don’t know where he is. And I don’t care long as whoever he’s scamming isn’t me.”

”Hmm,” Crutchie shrugged, “I guess that’s reasonable. I mean, when he refused the reward for finding you, I thought, ‘wow, Cowboy has found himself a different kind of prince.’ But...”

”Davey refused the reward?”

The hope in his eyes, paired with shock, was obvious.

Crutchie just had to hope that how gone Jack was over this man wasn’t misplaced.

”He said knowing you had found your way home was enough of a reward,” he explained, “But I don’t think he’d stand by that if he could see how unhappy you are right now. And don’t deny it—I know you _literally_ better than you know yourself.”

Jack shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “What does that have to do with Davey?”

This was the part that was going to be hard, but... but Crutchie steeled his resolve and said what needed to be said, anyway.

”It has to do with him because he’s currently planning on taking the noon train to Amsterdam. And... and no one besides Katherine, Delancey, and me has seen you yet. It’s your choice whether or not they do.”

He watched as realization flashed through Jack’s eyes.

Crutchie smiled as he hugged his brother for what... well, he wasn’t sure if it would be the last time.

He’d given Jack an out. He had a chance to run away and be with the man he loved.

Now, it was up to him whether or not to take it.

...

Why was Jack so messed up about this?

Davey had lied to him. Davey had used him. More than that, Davey had tried to use _Crutchie_.

And he refused the reward for finding Cowboy.

He... he’d said that Jack finding his way home was enough of a reward.

Maybe some part of him _had_ cared.

Jack wished there wasn’t a part of _him_ that did. It would make things so much simpler if he didn’t care.

”I should be glad I’m where I should be,” he thought aloud.

He _was_ glad. He was glad that he was home with his close friend/ex-girlfriend and his last remaining brother. He had back what was left of the old life he still only partially remembered.

“...but nothing is what it was.”

Jack wasn’t the person he’d been back then. He still couldn’t think of himself as ‘Cowboy,’ because Cowboy was a boy who’s biggest problem had been helping his younger siblings through nightmares.

Jack was a man who’s biggest problem was trying to _remember_ those siblings, and their mother, and some part of him trying to decide if he even wanted to, considering they were all dead except one.

He remembered he loved them. Jack would always love them.

But they were gone, and... and he still loved Davey, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it even to himself.

”I didn’t know he mattered to me... but now I can see he does. Conman and prince both get their wish, and fairytale comes true...”

Why didn’t it feel like Jack had gotten his wish, here? Because one person—one smart, witty, handsome conman—was missing from it?

”The only thing I lose... is—“

He hoped it might be Davey when the door behind him opened unexpected.

It wasn’t.


	22. Still/The Neva Flows (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a BUTTLOAD of angst.

“Spot.”

The name nearly made Spot lose focus.

There was only one way he could possibly know that name.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t recognized him that day in Spot’s office, or how he’d been a good enough actor to hide it if he did, but...

”So it _is_ you. And I let you go.”

He wished it wasn’t really him.

It would be so much simpler if it wasn’t him.

”What are you doing here?”

Spot decided to call him ‘Jack’ in his head. It made this easier.

Only a little, but it made it easier.

He should draw him out of Crutchie’s place, somewhere less visible.

”Paris is no place for a good and loyal Russian. I’m here to take you home.”

”This is my home now,” Jack said, still visibly wary, “And we’re _both_ good and loyal Russians.”

Something... Spot wasn’t sure what it was, but something had changed in him. He wasn’t that scared nobody he’d been the last time Spot saw him.

There was definitely Cowboy’s strength in there. That was a problem.

His expression was exactly the same as back when Spot was fourteen years old, when Race would drag him onto the dance floor and pretend it was just because Elmer and Romeo already had partners and Smalls stepped on people’s feet on purpose. Distrusting and just a little judgmental.

There was no denying who he was, no matter how badly Spot wanted to.

“Do you think history wants you to have lived?”

”Yes,” Jack answered coldly, “Why don’t you?”

Spot could read between the lines, see the implication that distrusting and disapproving of him when they were kids had been _right_.

_It’s been ten years. You don’t care, Spot. It’s fine._

”The Larkins were given everything,” he said, completely truthful, “And gave back nothing. And yes, Queen Medda tried to fix it, but the actions of one royal was never going to be enough. The Russian people rose up and destroyed her and all the others.”

“Not all of them,” Jack corrected, “So, finish it, Spot. I am my mother’s son.”

”And I’m my father’s son.”

Jack actually seemed a little unnerved when Spot took out his pistol.

His hands weren’t shaking.

He could do this.

He had to be able to do this.

His father had died of shame after helping kill the Larkins, but he wouldn’t.

He had literally nothing to lose, taking Jack’s life.

“In me, you see them,” Jack said, his words a challenge, “Look at their faces in mine. Hear the screams, imagine their terror, see their blood!”

The revolution was justified. Spot’s father did what he had to. He’d done a proud and vital task, and Spot was just finishing it, in his name.

”Do it!” Jack challenged, “And I will be with my mother and brothers and sister in that cellar in Yekaterinburg all over again!”

The children... Spot _could_ see them in Jack.

None of the Larkins were biologically related, but they all carried the same sparks in their eyes.

Of mischief, of humor, but also of a fierce kind of loyalty and love for each other and the few friends they chose to extend their family to.

Spot could see the others in Cowboy. He could see _Race_ in Cowboy.

Race was in his ear, his voice telling him not to do it. _Pleading_ with him not to do it.

_“You’re not just a soldier, Spot,”_ he said urgently, _“You’re so much more than that. I can see who you are even if you can’t. But I also know that if you try, you’ll see it, too. I know you can. You have to see that you’re more than what they want you to be. Please, Spottie, please.”_

Spot shook his head, trying to clear the voice away. He needed to focus. Race wasn’t here. Race was _dead_. What Race would’ve wanted didn’t matter.

Good soldiers made painful choices. They did what was necessary.

For Russia. Spot had no choice, so he would do this. He _had_ to do this.

The Neva kept flowing, a new wind kept blowing, and soon it would be spring.

Queen Medda was dead. Smalls and Romeo and Elmer were dead.

Race was dead. Spot had to forget him. He needed to stop thinking of him.

_God_ , why couldn’t it be easier to stop loving someone?

_I don’t want to stop loving him. I want him_ back.

No. Spot needed to stop doing that. He needed to _stop thinking like that_.

He needed to steady his hands. He needed to blink the tears away from his eyes.

”You can’t do it,” Jack said fiercely, “I know you can’t.”

He was _daring_ Spot to shoot him as he stepped closer.

Right. Up. To. The. Barrel. Of the gun.

“A revolution is a simple thing!”

Spot had meant to yell it, but it came out as a whisper.

_”You’re not just a soldier, Spot.”_

He’d never thought he could be the kind of man who Race deserved, or even the kind of man who the rest of them deserved as a friend. Spot was angry, messed up, and always tried to do the right thing but _never_ knew what it was.

He had never known what Race saw in him that was worth his time.

Cowboy was right about that.

And about Spot not being able to kill him...

...

Jack admittedly jumped at the loud noise.

The clatter of the gun hitting the floor, not the bang of it going off.

Spot shrugged, wiping what Jack was pretty sure were tears off his face.

”You’re right. I can’t.”

Jack had had doubts about him when they were kids, but...

”You loved my brother, didn’t you?”

Spot took a shaky breath, then nodded, looking at the gun on the floor like he was ashamed of it.

”With everything I had.”

Oddly... that wasn’t that surprising.

Even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it, Jack had always been able to see how they looked at each other.

Jack wasn’t sure if you could really count something between two fourteen-year-olds as love, but he had no doubt that Spot and Race had felt for each other as close as you could get to real love at that age.

He’d... he’d seen it a million times and hadn’t wanted to admit it, but one night above anything else he’d witnessed between them.

”You’re the one who saved us,” he realized out loud.

Spot froze up, and Jack wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t going to pick up the gun and shoot him.

He continued anyway.

”We were in that cellar in the dark, and the soldiers kept coming down to take us somewhere safe one by one,” Jack remembered, “At least, that was what they said. First, they took Mama, and I understood why they had to—she was the queen. But I made them take Smalls next because she was the youngest and go up in age order so that my siblings would be safe before they took me.”

The memory came back little by little, a terrible picture that wouldn’t stop moving.

“We kept hearing gunshots, and we assumed it was the soldiers fighting the revolutionaries to protect us.”

”It wasn’t,” Spot said quietly.

Jack nodded, “We didn’t figure that out until you were breaking open the window on the back wall and helping me and Race get Crutchie out. Then... then you kissed Race goodbye—I think it was both of your first kiss—and told us to run. You had me punch you out so that you’d have an excuse for letting us escape if anyone found out.”

”I couldn’t just let you die.”

The words were quiet, and Jack wasn’t sure if Spot was quite aware he’d said them.

Still, he responded.

”Then why try to kill me now? Why join the Bolsheviks at all?”

”You think I had a choice? Not everyone can run away to Paris.”

He was hesitating, and Jack stayed silent, waiting for whatever he had to say.

“You and Crutchie are still alive,” Spot muttered thoughtfully, “Is there any chance Race could be—“

”No,” Jack said quickly, “I wish, but... no.”

As much as he still didn’t really trust Spot, Spot had loved Race.

He deserved to know what happened.

”After you let us out,” Jack explained, “The soldiers chased us. We decided to split up. Race was in shock—he couldn’t be on his own—but Crutchie went off in one direction and we went off in another. We counted on the fact that a few soldiers would be easier to evade than an entire unit... but all of them followed me and Racer.”

Spot tried to wipe away the tear running down his face discreetly, but Jack saw it.

Poor kid.

Well, he wasn’t a kid, anymore. But some part of him was the same person who’d tried to save Race’s life and _had_ saved Jack’s and Crutchie’s years ago, _knowing_ he could be killed for it.

”I ran as fast as I could, keeping a tight grip on Race’s wrist. He still wasn’t in his right mind even enough to hold my hand. He grieved for Mama and Smalls, Romeo and Elmer. He was terrified out of his mind. And he was worried about Crutchie... and you.”

Jack took a deep breath, trying not to let it shake.

”I thought we might be in the clear. I turned around to tell Race that, but then I heard gunshots and we were both on the ground. I remember falling out of the back of a wagon into the snow, and then... then I was in the hospital, but...”

Spot stared him in the eye, not even trying to disguise the fear, all mixed up with hope.

Jack hated that he had to crush that little bit of hope.

He sighed, “I was hanging onto Race that whole time. His heart was beating so hard I could feel it... so I _felt_ when it stopped.”

Spot took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, clearly trying to control himself.

“Crutchie and I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

”It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “I didn’t save the rest of you.”

He didn’t save Race. That was clearly what he was really thinking.

“He loved you, too, you know,” Jack admitted, “That’s why I hated you so much.”

Spot smiled, just a little, “Thanks. That means... more than it should.”

God, Jack didn’t know why he was doing this, but...

”Spot, stay.”

”What?”

”Stay,” Jack repeated, “If you go back, they’ll kill you if they ever find out I’m still alive.”

“ _If_?” Spot asked, “How could they possibly _not_?”

Jack shrugged, “Let’s just say... Race always followed his heart, no matter what I or anyone else had to say about it. He loved with everything he had and didn’t let duty stop him from being with someone who made him happy. I guess it runs in the family.”

Spot stared at him, then nodded slowly, “Good luck.”

”Thank you. Now, please, Spot, I’m sure Crutchie would be happy to see you’re still—“

”I don’t want him to see that I’m still alive,” Spot interrupted, “I’m going back to Russia.”

”Spot—“

”It’s my home,” he said simply, “And if I tried to stay, do you think there would be anything Crutchie or Katherine could do to protect me once my superiors found out I defected?”

Jack had to admit, he didn’t think there would be.

“Besides,” Spot scoffed, “Do you really think I’d enjoy living with the brother of the boy I loved?”

Jack couldn’t think of a good argument for that.

”What will you tell them?” he asked instead.

”If it comes to it,” Spot picked up the gun, hiding it back in his coat and heading back for the door, “I’ll tell them I wasn’t my father’s son after all.”

No, he wasn’t.

And Jack was now regretting ever seeing him as that; just another soldier.

He still couldn’t quite see what Race had seen in him, but he could now see that he was more than just a boy training to follow orders no matter what.

”Good luck, Spot.”

When he turned around, the other man was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I didn’t give you a happy ending, Spot! But Race is waiting for you!!! He’d prefer if you waited a while to join him, though.


	23. Finale

Davey didn’t really know what he was going to do in Amsterdam, but he figured he’d figure it out on the train ride there. It _was_ a long ride, after all. 

It was strange not to have a plan.

Davey honestly didn’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t have a plan of some sort. Whether that plan was to learn his Hebrew and listen to his Mama like a good boy, or to run away to Petersburg to take a burden off her and Les, or to pull off a job to keep him and Sarah fed for a while, or to take a prince to Paris to find his brother.

Now... he had zero plans besides ‘get to Amsterdam and write to Sarah occasionally.’

That was... a little scary, but Davey wasn’t thinking about it too much.

Instead, he smiled, thinking instead of the plan that had _worked_ , but not in the way he’d expected.

Jack had been successfully passed off as the Cowboy prince, because he actually _was_ Cowboy.

He was living with Crutchie, now, his only remaining family member. He would be happy and safe and have a home, love, and a family.

That thought was enough to get Davey through the fear of his own uncertain future.

At least Jack was where he was meant to be.

That would be enough for him.

Funny, wasn’t it? How Davey hadn’t realized he loved him until he _couldn’t_ have him anymore. That was probably fitting and fair, considering all the people he’d scammed in the past. Conmen like him didn’t deserve happy endings.

Whatever. A prince would never end up with a conman in any version of a fairytale. It just wasn’t possible.

Davey tried to tell himself that he would get over him. He’d find someone else, maybe even Amsterdam. He’d watch in newspaper stories and radio broadcasts as Jack found someone else, too, and be happy for him. Be fine with it.

The thought of Jack with someone else didn’t make him want to throw up. That was just the nervousness of going somewhere he’d never been before.

”Davey!”

...

Crutchie wasn’t particularly surprised when he walked into Jack’s room to find no one there, but it was... _bittersweet_ all the same.

“Where did he..?” Kath seemed to realize in the middle of her sentence, “Davey.”

Crutchie smiled, trying not to let the sadness creeping in show, “I don’t think we’ll be seeing either of them again.”

Then he noticed something left on the desk.

”Davey said he’d write,” Sarah said uncertainly, “So, we’ll know where they are, probably.”

Crutchie picked up the battered music box he’d given his brother so long ago, a note left under it.

_Dear Crutchie,_

_It’s come to my attention that history isn’t on my side. Mama’s family was a terrible form of corrupt and I was never super helpful in trying to fix it. None of the common people really wanted me to have lived—they just liked the mystery. So let them keep that mystery. As far as the government is concerned, I’m dead. As far as the public goes, who knows? I’m not saying to keep seeing imposters, but... well, I guess I’m just saying that me owning up to who I am and how I survived isn’t really in anyone’s best interest. You and Kath knowing is enough._

_Don’t worry, little brother. I’ll visit and write plenty. But for now, keep the music box. I think you need it more than I do, to help you through any nightmares while I can’t. I love you._

_Your brother, Jack_

“What’s that?” Kath asked quizzically.

Crutchie shrugged, “Nothing anyone needs to see. Now, let’s go tell the press that Cowboy Larkin is dead.”

...

Spot took a deep breath before stepping into his superior’s office to give the report.

He hadn’t been arrested yet. That meant that Jack had succeeded in running off with... well, whoever it was his heart wanted him to chase.

Spot had a hunch that it was one of the Jacobs Twins, though he wasn’t sure which one. Wait, was Sarah Jacobs that common girl Katherine had been sneaking around with when they were kids? Was she _still_ sneaking around with her? Did that mean that Jack was going off with _David_ Jacobs?

Whichever one it was, at least _one_ of the Larkins got to have a happy ending with someone they loved, even if the rest couldn’t.

_”You always see the cup as half empty, don’t you? That’s a problem.”_

Spot didn’t let himself smile externally as Race laughed at him in his head.

Jack had been right. That time when Spot saved the three oldest Larkin siblings was his first kiss, and Race’s, too. At least, as far as he knew.

Realistically, it would probably be both of their last.

Oddly though, right now, Spot didn’t mind. He was more at peace than he had been in over a decade, knowing Race was right all along.

No matter what anyone thought or tried to make him be, he wasn’t just another soldier. And he wasn’t his father’s son.

“What is the report, Conlon?”

Not Lieutenant Sean Conlon.

Just Spot Conlon.

Being Spot Conlon was enough.

...

The members of the press shut up as Crutchie entered the room, all of them waiting for his statement.

He took a deep breath, clutching the music box in his pocket, and reminded himself that this goodbye wasn’t forever.

”As of today, there will be no more Cowboys. The reward for his safe return will be given to charity.”

...

”There never was a Cowboy,” Spot said firmly, “That young man was an imposter who was rejected by the prince in Paris, and disappeared afterward.”

”You mean you couldn’t find him?”

”No,” he admitted, “But it doesn’t matter. He was a dream.”

...

“He was a beautiful dream,” Crutchie went on, “A dream from my childhood.”

...

”A dream only time will fade.”

...

”So, no more talk of the Grand Duke Francis ‘Cowboy’ Larkin.”

...

”The new order has no need for fairytales,” Spot finished, “The case is closed. Cowboy will remain exactly what he always was; gossip for bored peasants and stories to entertain children.”

He held his breath as his superior considered it.

”Very well. Dismissed.”

Race would have smirked the way he always did when they got into trouble.

Spot strategically kept the smirking to a minimum.

...

“Still...” Crutchie paused, “My brother‘s story will pass into legend, and that’s alright with me. Stories are all I have left of my family, now—but let us treat them as such. It’s all well and good to pretend, but the reality is that my mother and my brothers and sister are dead. None of them were lucky enough to survive the way I did.”

The world didn’t need to know that wasn’t true.

Kath rolled her eyes as the reporters started barking questions.

Whatever. Crutchie had her and Sarah to help deal with them.

And he had a brother who would come visit some time after the press storm died down.

Crutchie wasn’t alone anymore, so he could take on the world.

...

Davey seemed kind of frozen as Jack ran towards him, and it wasn’t clear if it was from surprise or fear.

He probably expected Jack to be angry, the way he was the last time they saw each other.

Still, he just looked down at his shoes awkwardly, not making any moves to get on the train yet.

”If you ever see me from a carriage again, don’t wave or anything.”

”Why not?” Jack asked.

”I don’t want...” Davey took a deep breath, then finally looked him in the eye, “I don’t want to be in love with someone I can’t have.”

”Someone you can’t have, huh? I’d beg to disagree, Davey.”

Jack didn’t wait for a response before he grabbed Davey’s face, pulling him down to his level to kiss him.

To somewhat of a surprise, Davey didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, though he pulled back after only a couple seconds.

”Your Majesty—“

”Jack,” Jack corrected, “Just Jack.”

Davey, being smart, seemed to realize what he was implying.

Cowboy Larkin couldn’t be with an ordinary nobody—especially not another man.

But Jack? Jack could.

”Are you sure?”

Jack nodded, “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. Plus, it isn’t like it’ll be hard, considering you’ll be writing and visiting Sarah when you can.”

”I can’t give you—“

”What?” Jack rolled his eyes as he interrupted, “A palace? I haven’t had a palace for over ten years, Davey, and I wasn’t even born in one. All I need is home, love, and family. And my family already lives where I can visit them in Paris.”

Davey chuckled, “And you want to find home and love with a conman?”

”Eh... not really. But I’d be happy to find it with a boy I saw from a parade float when I was ten.”

Davey studied his face, probably looking for any sign of doubt. Making sure he really wanted this.

And then he smiled, “I guess I did tell you I’d find you again.”

”Technically, I found you.”

They both laughed a little at that. And Jack tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

”So, where are we going?” he asked.

Davey shrugged as he picked up his suitcase and turned back to Paris, “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had so much fun writing this, and honestly I’m really surprised I finished it so quickly. It doesn’t feel quite real that I’m done with this AU, even though I am. 23 chapters, all done! Completely finished!  
> Anyway, comments give me more serotonin than they probably should, so if you liked this fic, please let me know! Seriously, I want to know your thoughts. Tell me what you liked! Tell me what you didn’t like! Just keysmash at me! I want to know what people think!


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